P,H O T O G B A P H y A N N U A I. 1957 EBITION
FANTASTIC, Vol. 6, No. 1, February 1957, Is published bi-monthly by Ziff-Davis Publishing Company
William B. Ziff, Chairman of the Board (1946-1953), at 64 E. Lake St., Chicago 1, Illinois.
Entered as second-class matter at Post Office at Chicago, III. Subscription rates: U. S. and possessions
ond Canada $4.00 for 12 issues; Pan American Union Countries $4.50; all other foreign countries $5.00.
\
Low Man
^ on the
Asteroid
BY THE EDITOR
THINGS WE’VE ALWAYS WONDERED ABOUT —
Why do policemen wear their guns way back on their hips
where any thug can sneak up and grab them . . . Why do
people sitting alone at bars always wear such grim expres-
sions . . . How can women possibly walk in shoes with four-
inch heels . . . How do baseball players keep their socks up . . .
What do two wrestlers say to each other in the dressing room
after a match . . . Did a baseball fan ever commit suicide after
his team lost a pennant . . . How many people have actually
read “War And Peace” from cover to cover . . . Why is it,
when you walk onto a subway platform, the train you want
is always just pulling out . . . When you save your dimes to
blow your child to a special treat at a very snooty restaurant,
why does the little brat always say, “I want a hot dog.
Daddy” . . . What would happen if every smoker in the coun-
try had to give up cigarettes for one week ... Do the number
of people in the United States who can swim outnumber those
who can ride a bicycle . . . How many men who resolve to be-
come financially solid before they many, stick to that resolu-
tion . . . How many gals who swear to marry rich men are
able to find one . . . What would happen to our economic struc-
ture if people suddenly refuse to stand in line in theaters,
banks, or anywhere else ... Do street pitchmen actually make
a living . . . Will cooking become a lost art what with the
scrumptious packaged cakes, frozen pies, ready-to-eat dinners,
and all the other prepared foods on the market . . . Will any-
body, after reading this, care one way or another what this
editor wonders about? PWF
3
1957
fantastic
FEBRUARY
Volume 6 Number 1
REG. U. S. PAT. OFF.
ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
Williom B. Ziff (1898-1953) Founder
Editorial and Executive Offices
366 Madison Avenue
New York 1 7, New York
Pfsidenf
B. G. DAVIS
V/ce Presidenis —
H. J. MORGANROTH
MICHAEL H. FROELICH
MICHAEL MICHAELSON
Secretary-Treosurer
G.E. CARNEY
Art Director
ALBERT GRUEN
CONTENTS
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
By E. K. Jarvis 6
WORLD OF WOMEN
By Harlan Ellison 30
THE MYSTERY OF DENEB IV
By Robert Silverberg 56
BEAUTY CONTEST?
By Henry Slesar 68
MY ROBOT
By O. H. Leslie 81
AN ENEMY OF PEACE
By Ralph Burke 86
A KISS FOR THE CONQUEROR
By Clyde Mitchell 99
DEPARTMENTS
LOW MAN ON THE ASTEROID
By The Editor 3
ACCORDING TO YOU...
By The Readers 104
THE BOOK RACK
By Villiers Gerson 108
Cover: EDWARD VALIGURSKY
Editor
PAUL W. FAIRMAN
Assistant Editor Art Editor
CEIE GOLDSMITH HERBERT ROGOFF
^ 1956 by Ziff-Davis Publishing Company. All rights rasarvad.
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A NEW MAGAZINE BY THE PUBLISHERS OF FANTASTIC
Biddy and the
6
Silver Man
7
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
By E. K. JARVIS
A man came out of the sky and they took him and hanged
him from the nearest tree thinking that they lynched
a devil. But perhaps they crucified a saint instead —
there in the beauty of the desert. And what place
could be more worthy of being called a second Calvaryf
I T WAS a typical blazing
Arizona day. Pitiless sun
distorting the desert and
making Sage Bend look like a
toy town off in the distance.
Sage Bend and the surround-
ing desert were bone-dry,
furnace-hot, and generally
depressing, but there were
compensations. Buck liked it
and Biddy liked it because it
was a country where a small
crippled girl and a tiny burro
could go almost anywhere
they pleased without danger.
Biddy was twelve. Polio
had struck during her tenth
year necessitating a clumsy
brace on her left leg. Thus it
was a little difficult to play
with the children of Sage
Bend and so Biddy’s father
had brought Buck in from
the Circle-7 ranch to be her
companion.
8
Buck was a shaggy philo-
sophical burro with ears al-
most as long as his legs. He
was gentle, rugged, and small
enough for Biddy to mount
all by herself. Reliable, too.
Buck would take Biddy any-
where she wanted to go but
he insisted on getting home
to the little corral behind the
house at a reasonable hour so
there was never any coming
in after dark.
There were many places
around Sage Bend where a
child and a burro could go.
Up in the foothills where
Hoppy chased the bad men
with Biddy and Buck racing
along in front of the posse.
Or to the caves and arroyos
where an ogre or a giant
sometimes captured a hand-
some prince and held him
until Biddy and Buck came
along to rescue him.
They knew all the fasci-
nating and magical places,
these two, and they were
now headed for a flat next to
King Arthur’s castle where
there would be jousting that
afternoon. Biddy said, “We’ll
have to hurry. Buck. We
mustn’t keep Sir Launcelot
waiting or he won’t toss us
his handkerchief as he goes
into the lists.”
Buck wig- wagged complete
understanding with his ears
and increased his speed not
one iota. But he signified that
there was plenty of time and
that they would make it.
“It will be a wonderful
tourney. Buck. With all the
knights and ladies.”
Buck agreed as he pattered
up the gulch toward the
ridges, his absurd little legs
twinkling.
“A wonderful day and —
wait a minute. Buck.”
Buck stopped and flopped
his ears while Biddy stared
thoughtfully at a ridge.
Biddy stared for quite a
while with a little frown be-
tween her blue eyes. Then she
looked all around as though
to reassure herself of her
location. “There’s a cave up
there. Buck.”
The news failed to stir any
great interest in the burro.
“It wasn’t there before.
That’s the place where Roy
Rogers caught those rustlers
and licked all four of them
single handed. There were
some rocks, but not any
cave.” Biddy looked about
swiftly and a tiny prickle
touched the back of her neck
and then was gone. It was so
quiet around here ; so sudden-
ly still and waiting-like.
But that was foolish. It was
always still up here in the
ridges except for a horny
toad maybe scraping faintly
on a rock or a little dust-devil
stirring the dry grass as it
stood on its tail and whirled.
Always quiet and she was
being foolish. Roy or Hoppy
or Davey Crockett wouldn’t
sit there half-afraid. Biddy
said, “Let’s go. Buck,” and
urged the burro to the left
toward the rocks.
The cave was clearly visible
from the foot of the big
boulders and Biddy waited
for some moments before she
slid off Buck and began climb-
ing the hill. Her leg brace
impeded her progress some-
what and clicked every time
she took a step.
“No, it couldn’t have been
here before,” she said. “That
spot was just a wall in the
rock. That was where Roy
Rogers fell back and was real
BIDDY AND THE SILVER AAAN
9
groggy for a ;ninute after the
bad man smashed a ten-pound
boulder right down on his
head.”
But obviously, there was
no solid rock wall now; in-
stead, a rectangular opening
clean and even as though cut
out of soft butter wdth a
sharp knife. Biddy moved
resolutely for^vard. Ten feet
from the opening, she stop-
ped and glanced back at Buck
for moral support. Buck slap-
ped at a fly with his left ear
and closed his eyes and gave
all the moral support he had.
Biddy stiffened her little chin
and went on.
It was a cave all right but
the fact of its being was over-
shadowed by w'hat it contain-
ed. There was plenty of light
to see without going inside
and Biddy stood in the en-
trance and stared wide-eyed.
The main thing inside was
a big box with funny knobs
and dials on it ; a box of some
kind of shining metal that
almost hurt your eyes when
you looked at it. There were
other things too — a lot of
wires and a funny looking
chair and a thing that might
have been a loud speaker of
some kind maybe.
Biddy’s mind raced. The
Eastern Bloc? She turned her
eyes up into the sky where
she could just make out the
10
space station up there a thou-
sand miles away going
around the Earth like another
moon watching day and night
to see to it the people and the
children of the Western Bloc
w'ere always safe.
Maybe this box belonged to
the Eastern Bloc. They had
their own space station but
Biddy was just ready to bet
they wanted to do something
to ours ! Maybe this was some
kind of a machine they sneak-
ed in here and built that
would blow up our station. A
pretty mean thing to do but
the Eastern Bloc did all kinds
of mean things.
Biddy was suddenly fright-
ened — real-frightened, not
just play-frightened — be-
cause what if the men would
come out of the cave or from
someplace and tie her up and
not let her go back and tell
Pop and Mom w'hat she’d
seen? Then the space station
•would be blown up and not
even Davey Crockett could
help because this wasn’t like
on television where people
got killed but not really. This
was serious.
Biddy turned slowly, hop-
ing now that the silence
would stay as it was and not
break into the sound of heavy
boots coming after her. It
was awfully hard but she
FANTASTIC
went back down the hill slow-
ly, because when she went
fast her brace rattled and
made a lot of noise.
It seemed like a very long
time before she was on Buck,
urging him out of the arroyo
and back toward Sage Bend.
And she got a little annoy-
ed at how calmly Buck took
it, ambling along at his usual
rate and not at all impressed
by the danger. But then what
could you do with a stupid old
burro that didn’t even know
how to wear armor properly
and always shook the plume
off his helmet and ate it ... ?
Dan Parker was tired. He
held the jeep on the rutty
road from the Circle-7 to
Sage Bend and thought of the
cold bottle of beer that was
waiting for him at home. This
twelve-mile drive every morn-
ing and night was rough, but
what could a man do? A man
couldn’t put his wife and kid
in a bunkhouse with a dozen
hands, and there was no other
place for Jane and Biddy at
the ranch. The house in Sage
Bend wasn’t so bad, though.
The rent was cheap and there
were a few friends Jane could
talk to.
Dan wiped the dried sweat
off his face and wondered
why it cost so damn much
just to live. Of course, in his
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
case, there was a reason. A
big reason. Biddy getting hit
with polio had cleaned him
out and put him in debt. Not
that he begrudged it of
course. She was alive and
that was the main thing. That
damned brace cut him every
time he looked at it, but she
was alive and healthy again.
He had no complaints even
if it took him the next ten
years to pay off.
He was lucky in a lot of
ways. Being foreman at the
Circle-7 paid little enough but
it was still better than an
ordinary cow hand’s pay. And
young Davey getting hit with
polio in spite of all the serums
about the same time it had
clubbed Biddy down. Funny
how bad luck for some was
good luck for others. Davey
getting hit was tragedy for
the boy and for old Sam
Taber, his father. But it had
been good luck for Dan Par-
ker because if Davey hadn’t
been crippled he’d be foreman
himself and Dan Parker get-
ting straight hand-money.
Yeah, bad luck for some —
good luck for others. Not that
he gloried in Davey’s misfor-
tune, but a man had to look
out for his own and the cards
had just fallen that way.
Sage Bend came into sight
and as Dan approached, he
saw a plodding figure in the
11
middle of the road moving in
the same direction. The sight
irritated Dan. Even when he
got close enough to see the
white cane tapping on ahead
of the shuffling feet, he was
still irritated.
Why did Art Haney have
to be like that? He w'as blind,
sure, and everybody felt sorry
for him, but he didn’t have
to rub it in your face. He
could hear the jeep coming
and could move over out of
the way but no, he had to stay
smack where he was until
you pulled to a dead stop and
honked. Then he would jump
as though you’d just missed
running him dovm and cower
on the side of the road. Didn’t
want anybody to miss the fact
that he was blind and helpless
— as if they could!
Dan stopped and honked
and watched Art put on his
pathetic little act and felt
guilty because it didn’t stir
him. Maybe he was hardened,
but what the hell ? Every time
you came down the road.
There’s a limit.
Dan called, “Hi Art.”
The answering voice had a
falsetto that sounded faked.
“Oh, it’s you, Dan. Blind man
can’t tell a thing like that.”
“Want a ride into town?”
“No — no. I’ll hobble along
and make it myself. A blind
man doesn’t like to think he’s
dependent on everybody.
Tries to do the best he can.”
“Okay. See you later.”
“Sure, but I won’t see you,
Dan. Could of once, but can’t
any more.”
Dan Parker jammed down
the gas pedal and the jeep
rammed forward kicking up
a cloud of dust that left Art
Haney coughing. Dan imme-
diately felt guilty. Mean trick,
but he hadn’t done it on pur-
pose. Just thoughtless.
He rolled the jeep into town
and lifted a hand as he passed
the jail. Cecil Bates, sheriff
of the county lifted one in
return but his expression
never changed. Sour — that
was the word, Dan thought.
Cecil felt himself wasted in
a country sheriff’s job.
Fancied himself of big-town
caliber, but all he did was
park on a chair in front of
the jail and think about it.
Sour was the word all right.
In fact, Dan thought, sour
was the word for the whole
damned town of Sage Bend.
Come to think of it, there
wasn’t a happy person in the
place.
Except Biddy.
Dan parked the jeep and
went in the house and got a
bottle of beer out of the re-
frigerator. He went on
through and out into the
12
FANTASTIC
backyard where Jane was
taking down the last of the
wash. Damn — it seemed wom-
en were always washing.
Come home and everytime
they were hanging clothes or
taking them down.
He stopped in the doorway
and looked at Jane. Looked
to actually see her which was
not the same as the ordinary
looking people usually did.
There was a stoop in her slim
shoulders and something —
well, something in the way
she carried her body. Tired-
like. She’d been so deuced
pretty when he’d married
her; so pretty he’d just had
to have her and that was the
only way. Why kid himself?
He’d married her because he
wanted her and love, if there
really was such a thing, had
come afterward. But it had
come ; or maybe it was habit.
Anyhow, he couldn’t think of
life anymore except in terms
of Jane and Biddy.
But it would be nice if just
one more time — just one
night — there could be the old
spark, the old breathless fire
that flamed so briefly and had
now smouldered down into a
sort of tired consideration —
an habitual companionship
with each knowing the other’s
habits and likings and re-
sponding automatically.
But what the hell? What
BIDDY AND THE SILVER AAAN
could you expect in this day
and age? With tension for
breakfast and dinner and
supper. With those two space
stations floating around up
there waiting to blow the
world up. Watching day and
night. There was little room
to think of anything else.
Jane turned with an arm-
ful of clothes and saw him.
Her smile was a quick up-
turning of her lips and then
it was gone. “Home, dear?
Have a hard day?”
“Rough. We moved three
hundred head in from the
north range to the loading
platforms.”
Jane pushed past him and
laid the clothes on the kitchen
table. She straightened and
pushed a wisp of hair out Of
her eyes. “Three hundred
head. That’s quite a few.
What are they worth apiece,
Dan?”
“Around two hundred and
fifty dollars probably.”
“And with all that money
old Sam can’t give you a little
raise. I think it’s a sin.”
“It isn’t clear money, hon.
Not by any means.”
“All the same — ”
Dan caught her as she tried
to pass and kissed her. She
responded after a fashion but
when it was over it was over.
“I’ve got to get the potatoes
13
on. You go sit on the front
porch, I’ll call you.”
“Where’s Biddy?”
Jane stopped with a ges-
ture of frustration as though
this was something she’d for-
gotten. “Oh, that child! I sent
her to her room, Dan.”
“To her room? Why?”
I just had to. We’ve got to
do something about that im-
agination of hers. She can’t
separate reality from fantasy
anymore.”
“What was it this time?”
“Something about a cave
up in the ridges with a big
metal box in it. The Eastern
Bloc is going to use it to blow
our station out of the sky.”
Dan shrugged. “Kids live
in their own world, honey.
Isn’t sending her to her room
a little rough?”
“I had to. She was going
down to tell Cecil Bates about
it. Can you imagine what — ?”
Dan laughed. “He’d have
probably arrested her for
spreading rumors. I’ll take
her out on the porch and talk
to her, okay?”
“Just so you keep her out
of my hair until I get supper
ready.”
Dan opened the door of
Biddy’s room and said, “Hi,
pigeon. Hot in there?”
“Not bad. Pop. There’s a
breeze through the window.”
14
The gruesome leg brace
smote him as usual and his
inward tightening against it
was so habitual that he hard-
ly noticed the slight tension
of his chest muscles. He said,
“How about coming out on
the porch and telling me all
about this cave?”
“Is it all right with Mom?”
“Uh-huh. I fixed it.”
“She told you about the
cave and the box?”
“Just mentioned it in pass-
ing. Told me to get the details
from you.”
He picked her up and car-
ried her out front where they
sat down side by side on the
front steps and looked out
across the miserable little de-
sert town. Dan’s eyes fell on
the tavern front over near the
depot. There would be at least
half a dozen drunks in there
and after sundown there
would be foremen from the
ranches roundabout talking
them into going back to work.
“The cave wasn’t there
before.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No. It’s the place I always
played Roy Rogers, but I
went there yesterday and
there was a door in the rock.”
“The door was open?”
“Wide open. I went inside
and there was a big shiny
box in there.”
Maybe a man was better
FANTASTIC
off in the city — in the war
plants. “Well what do you
know about that!”
“Pop! You aren’t listen-
ing.”
“Oh yes, I am.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I sure do.”
“The box had a lot of tubes
and dials on it.”
Of course, now they’d taken
the profit out of war there
wasn’t much more money
there either unless you work-
ed fifteen hours a day. “Was
Roy there waiting for you?”
“Pop! It wasn’t make be-
lieve ! The box was really
there and the Eastern Bloc
is going to use it to wreck
our space station.”
“They’d better not!” That
was another thing. If the
blow ever fell and all the
brains thought it was sure to,
a man had better have his
family as far from a city as
possible.
“I thought maybe they
would capture Buck and me
so we couldn’t tell on them
but there wasn’t anybody
there. We got away all right.”
Not that it would do much
good. The radiation would get
everybody eventually. Maybe
it would be better to be killed
quick and get it over with.
“Pop — I’m not fibbing to
you — ”
Dan roused himself from
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
his somber thoughts. “I know
you’re not honey. Listen, let’s
go out and give Buck some
water and about that time
Mom will have supper ready.
What do you say?”
Biddy sighed. “All right
Pop . . .”
The sun blazed down on the
desert just as it had yester-
day and would do tomorrow.
Biddy sat on the dozing Buck
and looked across the rocks at
the place she’d first seen the
doorway. It had taken a lot of
courage to come back here
after being so scared before
and after nobody had believed
her. They’d said thei'e hadn’t
been any door at all — that
she’d only been make-believ-
ing.
And maybe — just maybe—
they had been right, because
there wasn’t any door there
now.
Biddy urged Buck on up
the slope. She went fearfully
at first, then with more cour-
age because everything looked
very quiet and peaceful, real-
ly. Maybe the horrid people
from the Eastern Bloc had
realized how silly it was —
trying to blow up our station
— and had packed up and
gone home. It wasn’t scary
at all now. Biddy urged Buck
right up to the wall and he
stood there with his eyes half-
15
closed catching a nap. And
that was good because you
couldn’t fool animals about
people. If there had been any-
one around, Buck would have
known, all right.
“Hello, little girl,”
A chill Avent through Bid-
dy. Not the cold kind, the
tickly kind, as she turned and
saw the man. Buck turned
and saw him too and then
went back to sleep.
The speaker was a man and
Biddy wondered how on earth
she could have missed him.
He was sitting on a rock be-
side the place the doorway
had been and while Biddy
wanted to be scared and
thought she ought to be
scared, she wasn’t able to feel
that way about the man at all.
He got up from his rock
and stood there smiling at
her. He was very tall — taller
than Pop who was no shorty
himself — and had a kind of
yellow hair that was thick
and curly. There seemed to be
a shiny circle around the hair
but then Biddy saw that was
just the sun and the way the
man was standing.
It was hard to say how old
the man really was. He was
about like Pop, but in some
ways he seemed a lot younger
than that and in some ways
much older. It was very con-
fusing. He was kind of slim
but he had a lot of muscle too
— pi'obably the way Davey
Crockett would look with his
shirt off maybe.
Biddy raised one leg and
the man said, “Need any
help?”
“No — no I can make it all
right.”
“That horse seems to be
built right to your size.”
Biddy laughed. “Buck’s not
a horse.”
“He’s not? Or should I say
she’s not?”
This man was so funny.
“Buck’s a boy.”
“Oh.”
“And he’s a burro, not a ,
horse.”
“Well what do you know
about that? Can you imagine
me calling him a horse? Will
you pardon me?”
Biddy took a couple of steps
toward the man, then stopped
uncertainly. “I — are you — ?”
“Why don’t you come over
here and sit down with me?”
“Is — is it all right?”
“I don’t know why not.”
“I thought maybe you were
from the Eastern Bloc.” That
was foolish of course. Nobody
as nice as this man could be
from the horrid East.
“No. I’m not from there.”
The man’s clear gray eyes
were on Biddy’s brace as she
approached.
16
FANTASTIC
“Then where are you
from?”
That seemed to take a little
thought. Well, let’s say I’m
from the sky bloc.”
“There is a sky bloc?”
“Oh, yes. A very big big
one. After all, the sky is very
big isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right. But
what are you doing here?”
That was obviously an even
tougher one to answer. “Oh,
I’ve got a little job to do.”
“You aren’t going to blow
up our space station, are
you?”
“No, that is, I hope not.”
“You mean that maybe you
will?”
The man’s smile said every-
thing was going to be all
right and because little girls
understood smiles and be-
lieved them even more than
words, it wasn’t necessary to
go into the subject any fur-
ther. “What’s your name?”
The man said some funny
word that Biddy couldn’t un-
derstand. She laughed and he
laughed too and then said,
“Why don’t you call me Joe?
That’s a nice easy name to
remember.”
“It’s a nice name. Do you
live in the cave there where
the shiny box is?”
The smile left Joe’s face.
“You were inside the cave?”
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
“Yesterday. You left the
door open.”
“Yes. I’m staying there for
a while.” Joe changed the
subject quickly. “What’s the
matter with your leg?”
“I had polio.”
“Polio? You were sick?”
“Yes, I was very sick, but
I didn’t die, so I was very
lucky. I only had my leg get
so I can’t use it.”
“Only that, eh?” Joe mused
and seemed intensely inter-
ested in the brace. “What a
crude conception of effi-
ciency,” and when Biddy
asked what? he said, “Oh
nothing. May I look at that
mehcanism?”
“You mean my brace?”
“Yes.”
Biddy came close and the
man concentrated on the
brace. Except that Biddy
thought he was more interest-
ed in her leg. His hands were
very gentle and then he look-
ed up suddenly and said,
“How would you like to see
the things I have inside the
cave, child?”
“You can call me Biddy if
you want to. My name is Kuth
but Biddy’s my nickname.”
“It’s a nice one. Let’s go
inside.”
Joe had a small thing on
his shirt and it was only
when he reached up and
touched it and the door of
17
the cave swung open that
Biddy noticed the peculiar
way he was dressed. And it
was strange, she thought,
that she hadn’t even seen the
tight-fitting silver colored
shirt and the pants that were
silver too and almost like skin
they were so tight to his legs.
But even in noticing them
now, Biddy didn’t say any-
thing because they really
weren’t strange at all. Not
when Joe wore them.
Joe took her hand and led
her into the cave. He said,
“Now don’t be afraid. None
of this is made to hurt little
girls.”
“What’s it for?”
“It’s called a primary relay
station.”
“Like our space station?”
“No — not exactly. This sta-
tion hasn’t any guns. At least
it hasn’t the kind of guns you
know about.”
“I’m glad. I’m afraid of
atom and hydroshells. They
kill people and poison them
and make them suffer.”
“This station doesn’t do
that. It reaches out into space
and brings in all kinds of
power. It’s a magnet, you
might say.”
“What are you going to do
with the power you bring
in, Joe?”
“Now that’s a very inter-
esting question.” Joe smiled.
18
“Maybe we’ll tickle little girls
with it.”
Biddy laughed. “You’re
just joking with me.”
“No, I’m not. Tell you what
we’ll do. Suppose I give you
a little sample?”
“That would be fun.”
Joe seemed to be wonder-
ing about the machine in the
cave with one part of his
mind and talking to Biddy
with the other. Not wonder-
ing exactly, but kind of like
Pop when he tried to rig the
jeep up to pull the big rock
out of the backyard by just
turning the back wheels. Pop
had done it too. He was smart
about making things do the
things they hadn’t been built
to do and Joe looked as
though he was trying to do
the same thing with his ma-
chine.
Joe said, “Why don’t you
sit right here, Biddy — on this
chair. Then we’ll take this
wire and fasten it there — so
— and this one, here.”
The wires were very shiny
and Biddy thought they must
be silver or maybe platinum.
Joe gave her one to hold in
her left hand and she asked,
“When does the tickle start?”
“Right away now.” Joe sat
down in front of a board
covered with switches and
dials and studied for a while.
FANTASTIC
Then he said, “Close your
eyes, Biddy, and imagine
you’re far up in the sky — that
Buck has wings and he’s
carrying you clear over the
mountains. Just think that
and don’t open your eyes.”
Biddy closed her eyes tight
and imagined Buck with
great big wings and she
laughed in her mind because
the wings were bigger than
Buck was and he looked back
at them and stamped his feet.
But they worked and she felt
Buck lift her right off the
ground and up into the sky.
They were really flying.
They sailed ever so far over
the desert and over the purple
mountains Pop said he’d take
her to see some day. It w'as
very peaceful and cool so
high up in the air and such
a funny feeling in her body.
As though going up in the
sky was really waking up and
like all the people down on
the ground were really asleep.
So much warmth and feeling
and tingely happiness came
into her legs and arms and
body that she could hardly
hold it all. Hardly hold it all
— hardly hold it . . .
“Wake up, Biddy.”
Biddy opened her eyes. She
was still sitting in the chair
but all the wires were gone
and Joe was standing there
looking down at her and smil-
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
ing. Biddy said, “Oh, I must
have taken a nap.”
“That’s right. It was good
for you. And now you’d better
get along home or your par-
ents will be worried about
you.”
“Why don’t you come with
me? You can have supper
with us.”
“Not tonight, Biddy. Some
other time.”
Biddy got up and they
walked hand in hand to where
Buck was waiting, Joe walk-
ing very slow because with
her brace Biddy couldn’t go
very fast. Joe lifted her onto
Buck and she waved good-bye
as they went down the slope
and away from the rocks. She
waved again just as Joe and
the cave and the wall went
out of sight. She was sorry to
see him disappear.
She got home a little late —
Pop was already home — and
Mom was cross. Mom said,
“Biddy, if you stay away like
this again. I’ll just take that
burro away from you.”
Biddy knew Mom wouldn’t
of course, but it scared her
just the same and she didn’t
say anything about Joe. That
was just as well, she thought
as she washed up for supper.
Mom and Pop didn’t believe
about the cave so they would
not believe about Joe either
19
and the nice ride up in the
sky on Buck.
Pop was already at the
table when Biddy came in and
Mom was sitting down. Biddy
hobbled across the room and
Pop looked up and said, “You
mustn’t be late again, Biddy.”
“I won’t Pop.”
Pop had looked back down
at his food. Then he jerked
his eyes up sharply and back
to Biddy as she came to her
chair and pulled it out and
sat down.
Mom was putting potatoes
on Biddy’s plate and Pop just
sat there and stared at her,
motionless. He didn’t say
anything or do anything and
finally Mom said, “Dan —
what on earth’s gotten into
you? Something wrong with
the meat?”
Pop laid his fork down and
said, “Get up, Biddy.”
“What, Pop?”
“I said, get up.”
“But Pop, I didn’t mean to
be late. Don’t take Buck away
from me — please.”
Pop frowned and made an
impatient motion with his
hand. “Oh, stop it! Just get
up and walk around the table
and let me look at you.”
Mom was looking at Pop
kind of puzzled as Biddy got
up and did as she’d been told.
Pop bent over and looked at
her brace and her leg. He ran
20
his hand over her leg, his
frown getting deeper and his
face more bewildered.
Suddenly he picked Biddy
up and carried her into the
bedroom and laid her on the
bed. Without saying a word,
he began unbuckling the
brace and he was just lifting
it away when Mom came in.
Mom said, “Dan — have you
lost your mind?”
Pop gave her a quick, al-
most savage look and then
turned back to Biddy. He
picked Biddy up and put her
on her feet and said, “Now
I want you to walk over to
the dresser.”
Mom said, “Dan! For
heaven’s sake.”
Pop barked back fiercely.
“Can’t you see it? Are you
blind? Her leg’s thicker and
bigger. It isn’t shorter than
the other one anymore!”
Then Biddy walked straight
over to the dresser as though
there had never been any-
thing wrong with her leg at
any time in her short life.
She touched the dresser and
then took her hand away and
laughed and walked back.
Pop bellowed, “Can’t you
see? Her leg’s healed.”
And Mom let out a kind of
strangled cry and fainted
dead away on the bed . . .
Dan Parker sat on a chair
FANTASTIC
facing the lounge where
Biddy sat close beside Jane.
Dan leaned forward and said,
“Now just once moi'e, baby —
tell us what the man did.”
Jane said, “Dan! The
child’s exhausted. She’s told
us everything she knows.”
“She might have missed
something. He had some sort
of a diathermy machine in
fhicj
“What’s diathermy. Pop?”
“Never mind that. He fas-
tened some wires from this
machine to your leg and after
a while you went to sleep.
Can’t you remember anything
else?”
Biddy yawned. “Nothing
except he was very nice and
said he came from the sky
bloc.”
Jane lifted Biddy in her
arms. “I’m going to put her
to bed. Nothing can be done
until morning anyhow. Poor
baby!”
Dan sat staring at the wall
until Jane returned. She came
and laid a hand on his shoul-
der and he looked up and his
thoughts were suddenly ar-
rested. It was as though Jane
had dropped years from her
age. The old glow was in her
eyes — a soft wonder — a new
happiness.
The realization impressed
him but was lost to the new
anxiety that was swiftly
rising in his mind. Jane said,
“Isn’t it wonderful, darling?
I can’t understand it, but I’ve
seen Biddy’s leg and — and I
don’t care how it happened.
I don’t care if the man in the
hills is true or a part of her
imagination. The cure is real
— real — and I’ve never been
so happy.”
“I think he’s genuine — he
has to be — and tomorrow
we’ll find out about him.
Bu1>-”
“But what, Dan?”
“I was just thinking — ”
Jane sat down on his knee
and put an arm around his
shoulders. “Dan — you don’t
seem too happy about it. I
don’t understand why — ”
Dan Parker looked at his
wife and said, “There’s an-
other angle to it, Jane.”
“Another angle?”
“If there is such a man as
Biddy describes and he cured
her deformity, then he can
cure the deformities of oth-*
ers, too.”
Jane was puzzled. “I sup-
pose that’s true.”
“He could cure young
Davey Taber.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonder-
ful?”
“I suppose so, but then
Davey will take over the
foreman’s job at the Circle-7
— my job.”
BIDDY AND THE SILVER AMN
21
Janey got up from her hus-
band’s knee. There was hor-
ror in her look. “Dan, do you
mean you’d let so small a
thing as that influence you
in—?”
Dan Parker sprang up also.
“Small? You know we could
not get along on a cow hand’s
salary. We’d starve to death.
And I’m no good for anything
but ranch work. It’s all I
know !”
“Dan — please!”
He turned suddenly con-
trite — somewhat ashamed,
but in a way, he stuck to his
guns. “Sure — I suppose it’s
rotten of me to think that
way, but I’ve got you and
Biddy to provide for. You two
are my responsibility. It may
not mean anything to you
having people say Dan Parker
can’t support his family, but
it means a lot to me!”
Jane looked at him quietly
for a long moment before she
said, “Dan, I — I just haven’t
any words. What you’re
thinking is almost evil — the
way you feel about this — but
I can’t think of a logical an-
swer or argument to show
you where you’re wrong. The
thing’s just — just beyond
words.”
Dan dropped to the lounge
and sat staring at the floor.
“I guess I’m a pretty rotten
individual.”
Jane spoke quietly. “The
only thing I can say, darling
is that we’ll always get along.
We always have.”
“Well, I can’t do anything
about it anyhow. Let’s go to
bed.”
“Of course. You’ll feel bet-
ter in the morning, Dan. By
that time you’ll realize what’s
actually happened. Biddy’s
been made whole. There’s
been a miracle, darling!”
“That’s right — a mira^
cle . . .”
Biddy awoke veiy early.
There was a funny little flut-
tery fear inside her and she
lay for a while trying to find
out what it was. There wasn’t
anything to be afraid of —
nothing she could think of.
Nobody had —
She sat up and moved both
her legs off the bed and put
her feet on the floor. Then
she remembered that her left
one was all right again and
she forgot all about hunting
for where the fear came from.
She was too completely happy
to worry about it.
She got out of bed and
dressed and tiptoed through
the living room, being very
quiet. When she got outside
there was a faint streak of
dawn in the east and she al-
most laughed aloud at the
wonderful feeling that came
22
FANTASTIC
from the cool, sharp morning
air, the dead predawn still-
ness, and not having to hob-
ble along with the old brace
on her leg.
Buck flopped his ears and
seemed a little annoyed at
having to get up so early but
he Anally agreed to come out
of the corral and take Biddy
up to the ridges. Even with-
out any breakfast, so Biddy
knew that regardless of his
seeming sullenness he felt
pretty good too.
Biddy didn’t quite get out
of town unseen. There was
someone else up early too.
Cecil Bates came slowly up
the main street and as Buck
approached him it was light
enough for him to look at
Biddy and say, “Wait a min-
ute, honey. You forgot some-
thing.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bates.
No, I don’t think so.”
“Your brace, Biddy. How
in hades did you get on that
burro without it?”
“Oh, I don’t need it any
more. A man fixed my leg
yesterday.”
“A who — did what?”
“A very nice man up in the
hills. He has a shiny box and
he had me hold some wires
and now my leg is all healed
up again.”
“What man ai*e you talking
about?”
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
“He has a cave up there.
At first I thought he was
from the Eastern Bloc and
was one of our enemies. But
he’s from space or somewhere
and he’s very good.”
Cecil Bates stared at Bid-
dy’s leg and then came close
and put his hands on it. Biddy
didn’t like that very much
and she kicked a heel into
Buck’s ribs and said, “I’ve
got to go now, Mr. Bates. It’s
going to be a very nice day
isn’t it? Good-bye.”
She rode away leaving the
sheriff standing wide-eyed in
the middle of the street with
his mouth open. As she moved
out of town she looked back
uneasily, the nameless fear
nagging at her again. She had
the feeling of having done or
said something wrong but she
wasn’t sure what.
The east brightened into
fresh dawn as Buck pattered
along toward the ridges. Bid-
dy had never been up so early
before and she thought it was
wonderful but her happiness
was dampened a little by the
fact that she’d gone off with-
out asking Mom. That was
wrong, she thought, and may-
be Mom would be angry. But
Biddy’s thoughts were mainly
occupied with wondering why
she had done it. She hadn’t
consciously wanted to deceive
23
Mom, but something she could
not really understand had
made her sneak off so quietly.
The same thing that made
her uneasy about telling Mr.
Bates what had happened.
Then the ridges were close
and she could see the rocks
and the place the doorway
should be. The door was
closed and Biddy guessed that
Joe didn’t get up very early
either.
She rode as close as she
could and was just about to
call out his name when a pair
of hands lifted her and swung
her off Buck and set her on
her feet. And Joe was saying,
“Hello there, youngster. Up
pretty early aren’t you?”
Biddy wasn’t even fright-
ened at his appearing that
way from nowhere. At least
that was how he had seemed
to appear. She said, “I woke
up and I wanted to come out
and thank you for fixing my
leg.”
“That wasn’t necessary.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“Not yet. I was up early
too and I was just sitting out
here doing some thinking.”
“Are you expecting to eat
breakfast soon?”
“Right now as a matter of
fact. You wait. I’ll bring it
out.”
Joe touched the small thing
on his shirt. The cave door
opened and he went inside
and came out very shortly
with a tray that he set down
on a rock.
Biddy looked at the tray
and said, “That’s aw'fully
funny food.”
“Funny?”
“Uh-huh. It doesn’t look
like any kind I ever saw be-
fore.”
“Well you just try it and
see if you don’t like it.”
Biddy picked up one of the
little white sticks and bit off
an end. She chewed it warily,
then with relish. “It’s very
good Where did you get it?”
“I brought it with me.”
They ate in silence for a
while, then Joe said, “Biddy,
what do your mother and
father think of the Eastern
Bloc?”
Biddy looked up in sur-
prise. “Why they hate it of
course. Everybody hates the
Eastern Bloc because they’re
mean and cruel.”
“What do the people of
your town expect to happen?”
“With the Eastern Bloc?”
“Yes.”
“Everybody knows we’ll
have to fight them someday.
We built a space station and
so they had to go and build
one too and they want to
wreck our station so they’ll
have the only one. And when
24
FANTASTIC
they do the big war will
start.”
“And I suppose the Eastern
Bloc knows you want to
wreck their space station?”
“Why they can’t think that
because we had one first and
we could have stopped them
from building one but we
didn’t because we aren’t mean
like they are.”
“I see.” Joe thought that
over very carefully for a long
time and then all the food on
the tray was gone and Biddy
said, “What’s the sky bloc
like, Joe?”
“The sky bloc?”
“That’s where you said you
came from.”
“Oh, yes. Well, it’s a little
hard to describe. It’s very big
and I think probably you’d
like it if you ever went there.”
“Did they send you away?”
“Not exactly. They sent me
down here to do something.”
“What do you have to do?”
“I have to talk to some
people.”
“What people do you have
to talk to?”
“I’m not quite sure yet. I
haven’t made up my mind.”
“When will you make up
your mind?”
Joe considered Biddy’s
questions gravely as though
each one was very important.
“I’m not quite sure. That
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
machine in the cave isn’t just
to make little girl’s legs well.
It does other things. It tunes
in on thought waves just the
way your television set tunes
in on pictures.”
“You mean it tells you what
people are thinking about?”
“In a way, it does. And
after a while I’ll look at the
things the machine has re-
corded and then I’ll decide
what I have to do or say.”
There was silence while
Biddy’s mind went off on an-
other track. Pretty soon she
said, “Joe, there’s a boy
named Davey — well, he isn’t
a boy, really, he’s almost a
man — and his leg is like mine
was. He can’t walk on it
either.”
“Does he live in Sage
Bend?”
“No. He lives on the ranch
where my Pop works. I think
it would be awfully nice if
you fixed his leg too.”
“Perhaps I can.”
Biddy clapped her hands
and looked at Joe through
bright eyes. “I think you’re
wonderful, Joe — ^just wonder-
ful — and there’s old Mr.
Haney. He’s blind, so maybe
you could — ”
Joe laughed. “Now wait a
minute, Biddy. I’m no miracle
man. I can’t reconstruct peo-
ple’s minds.”
“But Mr. Haney’s mind is
25
fine. It’s j ust his eyes that are
no good.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong
about that.”
“Do you know Mr. Haney?”
“Not exactly. I’ve wander-
ed around a little and I met
him while he was taking a
walk.”
“Then you know how bad
it is to be blind.”
“Yes, but you don’t under-
stand, Biddy. I wouldn’t be
helping Mr. Haney. I’d be
hurting him.”
“Hurting him?”
“Yes. Mr. Haney is far
happier the way he is than
if he had his sight back. With
his eyes functioning he’d be
just like anyone else.”
“That’s what he wants.”
“No he doesn’t. Being blind
makes him different and he’s
grown to depend on that dif-
ference as a staff of comfort.
He lives on the sympathy he
gets from people who can see.
Mr. Haney doesn’t know it
himself but he would be very
miserable if we gave him
back his sight. As I said,
Biddy, I can’t change people’s
minds. I’m no miracle man.”
“That’s what Mom and
Pop said happened to me. A
miracle. Was that right,
Joe?”
“No Biddy. You see where
I come from we’re a little
further ahead in some scien-
tific developments than the
people down here. The expan-
sion and reconstruction of
bone and tissue isn’t very dif-
ficult when you know how
and have the right sonic fre-
quencies to work with.”
“I see,” Biddy answered
gravely although she didn’t
see at all. “But what about
Davey Taber? He doesn’t
really want to be crippled
does he?”
“I doubt it. Maybe we’ll
have a chance to see ...”
The town of Sage Bend was
in an uproar. The crowd — if
the few dozen persons who
resided there could be called
a crowd — were milling in
front of Dan Parker’s house.
They had seen some excit-
ment and wanted to see more.
It had started before dawn
with Cecil Bates standing
alone in the street, watching
Biddy ride off. When she had
gone beyond his sight, his
confusion and consternation
fused into a clear-cut thought.
He’d be triply damned if that
heel Dan Parker hadn’t been
playing on the sympathy of
the town all this time.
Ever since Biddy had been
brought back from the hospi-
tal in Phoenix. Could you beat
it? Putting a brace on a kid’s
leg and making her wear it
around town so people ai'ound
26
FANTASTIC
town would be sorry for him.
But why? What end did it
serve?
Then Cecil knew. Not the
townspeople. Of course not.
Sam Taber was the target of
Dan’s rotten plan. Who’d ever
think a man would be so
scared of his job he’d make
his own daughter act a crip-
ple in order to keep it?
Well, he wouldn’t get away
with it any longer. Cecil fair-
ly vibrated with the impor-
tance he felt within himself
at having come upon this se-
cret. He’d show this town. So
they thought he was just a
slob who sat in front of the
jailhouse all day, did they?
Just a bouncer to take drunks
out of the tavern and sober
them up behind bars. He’d
show them they had to get
up pretty early to get the wool
over Cecil Bates’ eyes and
keep it there.
Nick Sanford was just
coming down to open his
lunch counter in case any late
drinkers wanted an early cup
of coffee. Cecil hurried in that
direction. Nick unlocked the
door and said, “Hi, Ceec. Up
early ain’t you?”
“Early enough to find out
what’s been going on around
here.”
“Something happen?”
“Your damn tootin’ some-
thing’s been happening. Met
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
the little Parker girl riding
out on her burro.”
“So early? Where was she
going?”
“Not important. The im-
portant thing was she didn’t
have her leg brace on.”
“Come on in while I make
coffee.”
Bates followed Nick inside
and said, “Didn’t you hear
me ? I said she didn’t have her
leg brace on.”
“Why not?”
“Because she didn’t need it.
She’s never needed it. Her
leg’s as good as yours or
mine.”
“You must be joking.”
“Did I ever joke, Nick?”
Cecil asked tonelessly.
Nick had to concede that
one. In all the time he’d own-
ed the lunch room, he’d never
seen Cecil Bates smile or say
a light w'ord. “What did
Biddy have to say about it?”
“Oh, she had some gobber-
ish about a man up in the
hills making her leg well.
Something Dan probably told
her to say if she ever got
caught.”
“That doesn’t seem logical.
About Dan I mean. I can see
why — ”
Cecil laid out his ideas on
the subject and Nick shook
his head. “Can’t hardly go
along with you on that. Don’t
27
figure it makes sense some-
how.”
“Gimme a cup of that
coffee, will you?”
“Okay. So you think it’s
just been a masquerade all
the time?”
“What other answer is
there? A spindly, pipe-stem
little leg doesn’t grow normal
overnight.”
“But we saw Biddy’s de-
formed leg. All of us.”
“I got that figured out too.”
“Then tell me.”
“Illusion,” Cecil said wise-
ly. “A kind of optical illusion.
We see a girl limping with a
big brace on her leg. We real-
ly don’t look any further than
that. We take it for granted
the legs bad. That’s human
nature, Nick.”
Sanford didn’t seem entire-
ly convinced but he didn’t
argue the point. “Well, now
that you know, what are you
going to do about it?”
“Do about it? I’m going
down there and expose that
rat. After pulling a slimy
trick like that he should be
held up for everybody to take
a look at.”
“I don’t know. I’d go a little
easy if I were you.”
Cecil’s native caution perk-
ed up at the warning but he
found a virtue wTth which to
defend his position. “I’d just
be doing my duty — the duty
of any citizen. And I’m not
going down there to accuse
him. I’m just going to ask him
about it. I’ll keep a completely
open mind and listen to what
he has to say, the damned
rat.”
Two men entered the lunch-
room after coffee and when
they’d heard Cecil’s story
they didn’t think much of the
“man in the hills” yarn eith-
er. In fact, they didn’t think
at all. As one whispered to
the other, “I don’t know what
the hell this is all about but
Ceec is on his horse and there
might be some excitement so
let’s stick around.”
The other one yawried.
“This stinking town could
certainly use some.”
Another hour went by be-
fore the town really started
gathering. Then, with what
amounted to a holiday spirit,
heightened by the aura of
mystery involved, the crowd
followed Cecil Bates up the
street to Dan Parker’s bunga-
low. And the closer they
came, the greater was Cecil
Bates’ sense of self-impor-
tance. Without analyzing, he
knew he was happier than
he’d been in many years. This
was the way a sheriff should
act — how the job should be.
Walking up the street to in-
vestigate rascality with the
28
FANTASTIC
town coming respectfully
along behind. They were de-
pending on him and he
wouldn’t let them down . . .
Dan Parker was finishing
his breakfast. He scowled into
his coffee and said, “What did
she have to pull a trick like
this for? If she doesn’t get
back I’ll have to go look for
her. I’ll be late to work.”
“Why should you have to
do that?” Jane asked. “She
knows the country. There’s
nothing to hurt her. She has
Buck with her.”
“Jane, sometimes I don’t
understand you. Your own
kid wandering around in the
desert and it doesn’t bother
you.”
“I don’t think it bothers
you either. You’re more wor-
ried about being inconven-
ienced — being late to work.”
“Now listen here — !”
“Oh, Dan! Let’s not fight.
It makes me a little sick to
fight now. Don’t you realize
that last night something
wonderful happened? Some-
thing we don’t understand
but wonderful all the same.
Biddy was healed — and here
we are the next morning
growling at each other like
a cat and a dog.” Jane ig-
nored the fact that Dan was
doing all the growling and
added, “Besides, I’m sure
she’s all right. I — I feel it
somehow.”
“You feel it! You’ve gotten
almighty sensitive — ”
Dan — please — ” Jane stop-
ped sudden’y caught by the
sound of pounding feet — the
rumble of the crowd. “Some-
one’s coming.”
They went out on the front
porch and saw the towns-
people swarming into the
front yard. Cecil Bates was
in the forefront with fat little
Tom Schultz, the mayor of
Sage Bend beside him.
Jane’s hand were gripped
tight together and her heart
was a dead weight in her
breast. “What’s happened?
What’s the matter? Have you
found Biddy?”
“No, we ain’t, Mrs. Par-
ker,” Bates said, then turned
his words on Dan. “This
morning I saw her riding that
burro out of town. And I saw
something else. She wasn’t
crippled at all. Never has
been. Now we want to know
what kind of a shenanigan
you’re pulling, Dan Parker !
Let’s have it straight.”
Jane said, “It’s true — it’s
true that Biddy’s leg has been
healed but it was done yes-
terday by — ”
“I know. She gave me that
story about a man up in the
ridges — something Dan told
(Continued on page 110)
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
29
WORLD OF WOMEN
By HARLAN ELLISON
No man could get within half a light-year of Arka HI.
But the defenses had to be breeched — not by an army,
but by one male named Aaron Deems. And he was so
clever about it that when he got there, the lady sentry .
7night well have said, “Dearie, your petticoat’s on crooked.”
T hey told me I’d have a
better chance using a
single-seat scouter, so I put
up the beef that I couldn’t
get the lifeshell into the
scouter; space was cramped
in one of those jobs. So they
shot back with the answer
that I could tow it along be-
hind me. I didn’t care much
for that, but it appeared to
be the only way out, so I took
it.
They snapped me into the
scouter, a half light-year out.
from Arka III, and went
back into the control shack.
I sat there for five minutes,
while the giant SpaceCom
dreadnaught around me ma-
neuvered herself into the
light of Arka. That way they
were blocked from sight by
the inner planets. Then the
compboard bleeped and they
told me the launcher was
ready.
I took a quick look behind
the ship, saw the perfect rep-
lica of a woman, fastened
by triple chains to the upper
arms, lying out full-length
on the launching rack. I
hoped the acceleration into
space wouldn’t rip any ef the
seams open.
Damn if the thing didn’t
look almost alive : long-
legged, brassy blonde hair,
blue eyes, high-breasted and
flat-stomached. And once in-
side it, that lifeshell would
be like a second skin to me.
Probably the only thing
besides my wits that would
keep me alive on the planet
of women — Arka III.
I turned back to the
compboard and flicked the
speaker on. “Deems here.
30
She stood at bay, facing hooded horror.
31
Everything set. Bolted down
and ready to snap. Over and
out.”
I heard the metallic voice
of Tessler, head of Space-
Corn Field Operations, in the
squawk-box over my right
ear. “Don’t forget Aaron,
you have to find out who sent
us the call, and which one is
the maniac. That’s impor-
tant, that’s your job . . . but
try and get back whole.
There’s a stack of missions
waiting on my desk, and
we’re short of Operatives.”
There was a grin in his voice,
only half-disguising the
steel-edged meaning of the
words.
“Over and out. Luck,
boy.”
The squawk-box clicked
with finality, and the pet-
cocks at the front of the
launching rack opened quick-
ly, the air sighing into space
puffily. Then the launching
rack doors slid open like gi-
gantic eyelids, and I was
staring face-full into the
searing red light of Arka.
I slapped the filters down
across the bubble, and it
dimmed out the red dwarf
only partially. I didn’t have
time to worry about it any
further, because I felt the
tighteners in the launching
rack grip . . . heard the click
of their settling locked . . .
and then the roar of the
launcher pile-driving in be-
hind me. A fragmenting
instant later the launcher
grabbed the little scout-
ship by the seat of its
pants and heaved it out the
front of the SpaceCom dread-
naught, into the diamond-
dusted black of deep space.
The lifeshell tugged at the
rear of the ship, but I felt it
only distantly. The accelera-
tion shoved me back into the
webbing, and my face was
yanked out of shape in a sec-
ond. I greyed out, and let the
world flicker into a wavering
nothing ai*ound me.
When I snapped back
awake, the dreadnaught had
slipped through into inver-
space, leaving nothing but a
bright blue smudge of dis-
torted space. It was gone;
back to Earth. And I was
alone.
On a possible death-mis-
sion to a world of women.
On the trip down, I had
time to rummage back
through my recent memories
and re-play the events that
had brought me to this point
in space.
Arka III had been a nice,
quiet agricultural planet, ex-
porting a nice breed of
egg-tomatoes, syntho-spin-
32
FANTASTIC
ach, and yawka root, till a
year before. The planet was
a little heavy on the matri-
archy side, with the women
outnumbering the men by
two-to-one, but still pleasant
(or more pleasant, if your
mind ran along those lines).
The government was set up
in a pyramid fashion with
the Five at its apex. The
Five were the only ones to
whom the anti-death drugs
had been administered, ex-
pensive and rare as they are,
and they ruled the planet
alone, for five hundred years.
The Five were the oldest
women on Arka III, and they
did a fine job. The planet
functioned smoothly, and re-
mained at peace with its
neighbors.
But some time several
years before, for no reason
at all, communication with
Ai'ka III was severed totally.
The attempts at trade or in-
formation-getting were met
with the strictest sort of re-
buke. Then, a few months be-
fore, the first skirmish raids
had begun.
Armored women, riding
their ships like the men that
had colonized the outer
worlds, descended on Tulla,
Jeequaz, Roosevelt IV, Ten-
spot and Lllaylllor. The raids
had wiped out all the centers
of population on each world,
and when tentative word had
been received in Galactic
Center, in the SpaceCom
headquarters, it was appar-
ent that the women of Arka
III were holding those
worlds as conquests.
No attempts at interven-
tion were successful. Thir-
teen different Operatives had
been sent into Arka Ill’s at-
mosphere, and none had come
back.
Then, one month before, a
coded message had come in
to SpaceCom. It had read:
ONE OF THE FIVE HAS
BEEN WARPED BY THE
EFFECTS OF HER IM-
MORTALITY DRUGS /SHE
IS INSANE FOR CON-
QUEST/ALL THE MALES
HAVE BEEN KILLED/A
MALE AGENT CANNOT
SUCCEED BUT WE NEED
HELP DESPERATELY BE-
FORE SHE KILLS US ALL
OR THROWS THE GAL-
AXY INTO CHAOS/SEND
HELP AT ONCE/MY FOUR
SISTERS ARE
The message had come
through painfully, over a pe-
riod of several days, in
snatches, as though the mes-
sage-sender were doing it
under surveillance. It had
not been signed. Whether be-
cause of intention, or be-
cause the warped Sister had
WORLD OF WOMEN
33
discovered the communica-
tion-system, it was not com-
pleted.
And Aaron Deems had
been selected to invade Arka
Ill’s soil, to track down the
warped Sister among the
Five. That was me.
They had known I couldn’t
make it as a man, so the life-
shell creators of Cits XII
had been employed to mold
me the lifeshell of a woman.
In which I could safely move
about the planet, and find my
informant, and through her
— end the career of conquest
of the warped Sister.
It was as rugged an opera-
tion as I’d ever been handed,
and ten years in the Space-
Corn have handed me some
odd ones. Walking around as
a woman, with the hypno-
buried movements and reas-
onings of a woman, was
going to be a strange expe-
rience.
I might have laughed at
the ridiculousness of it all
. . . if I hadn’t known this
was for keeps.
I’d seen tri-V clips of the
rubble left of Lllyalllor.
Eight billion men, women
and children had met with
flaming death on that raid,
and I knew it was no joke,
combating the diseased mind
that had turned a planet of
farming females into a
world of bloodthirsty killers.
No one in the Galaxy was
safe, till the warped Sister
was located . . .
. . . and put out of the way.
That was my job, and I
suddenly had the chill fear,
as my scouter dragged that
lifeshell toward the crimson
bulk of Arka III, that I
might fail. I had never con-
sidered failure before, but
this seemed a problem be-
yond my scope.
I was worried, and worse,
I was damned scared.
Those tri-V clips had not
been pretty.
Their telesonar picked me
up while I was still cruising
high. My activators clicked,
and I knew they had their
beams on me, tracking me
carefully. And for a while,
no interceptors came up
from the planet.
I knew I couldn’t fight it
out with them; the scouter
was just too small, and with
that lifeshell tagging along
behind, my maneuverability
was cut to nothing. And I
couldn’t take a chance on
them blasting up the shell,
anyhow. I had to let the
plane accelerate. I had to
ditch the scouter fast.
I threw the stick down,
and the gyros sent the scout-
er into a silent dive, straight
34
FANTASTIC
for the blood-red bulk of
Arka III.
As the planet grew big in
my conning bubble, sur-
rounding me with a crimson
glow, I got a glimpse of the
world’s curve, stretched like
a paper cut-out, above me.
Then the atmosphere came
up to meet me, the gyros took
hold, there was an “up” and
a “down” . . . and I was go-
ing down. The scouter heeled
off to the right, the chains
attached to the lifeshell grab-
bed air, and the drag was
terrific. I was thinking of
easing up, making a conven-
tional spiral-slide planetfall,
and almost eased the stick
back.
Then I caught a horizon-
glimpse, and saw a scramble
of interceptors — sleek-bod-
ied, silverfish, and deadly —
rising up to meet me. I knew
I couldn’t ease back, or
they’d blow me out of the
sky.
The scouter ripped air,
with a whine like a million
pulled-apart drive chambers,
and nosed straight down. I
passed the covey of intercept-
ors with a good hundred and
fifty miles to spare, and
plowed through a cloudbank,
losing myself.
By the time they could get
their radar on me, I’d be
gone. And I was already be-
low telesonar range from
Arka Center.
For the time being, I was
safe. Now all I had to do was
land the damned scouter,
make sure it wouldn’t be
found, get into that lifeshell,
and play female indefinitely.
Did I say all!
Things were shaping up.
Not nicely, but steadily.
As it turned out, I needn’t
have worried about camou-
flaging the scouter. I had
deadsticked the ship so hard,
it burned out the casings on
the power-pile, and half a
mile up the jets misfired,
sputtered and died. I went
into a tight spin, and had to
use the jectorseat to throw
me out. I had taken the pre-
caution of dragging in the
lifeshell — after jettisoning
the conning bubble — so when
the ejector went spung! it
was thrown up and out, the
pliant body hugged tight as
death to my chest.
When the seat yanked
loose and the mijit-shute bil-
lowed at my back, I was still
clutching her to me. I settled
down nicely, and watched
above me, then in front of
me, then below me, as the
scouter spun and wavered,
finally taking a snaking spin
into the ocean. It was gone
in a few moments. Not even
WORLD OF WOMEN
35
a plume of smoke. Neat, and
final.
I came down in a tree, on
an island — or what I sup-
posed was an island. I had
been briefed on the continent
layout of Arka III, and sup-
posed I was on one of the
little keys adjoining the
main continent. The scouter
had gone down into the West-
ern Sea.
It was hell getting out of
the shute harness, but after
fifteen minutes of struggling
I shucked it off, and did a
good imitation of an orangu-
tan, as I clambered down
from the feathery-leafed tree.
The lifeshell was untouch-
ed, except for a few tree-
smudges on arms, belly and
forehead.
I took a sprint into a stand
of deep underbrush, just in
case those interceptors had
followed the scouter down,
and finding soft soil, buried
the shute harness in a shal-
low trough.
Then I left the lifeshell,
took a fast dip in the spar-
klingly cool waters offshore
to clean away the upper lay-
ers of epidermis — using a
mild abrasive from my dop-
kit — and got ready to slip in-
side the female lifeshell.
First I sprayed adhesivtalc
inside the shell, and over my
entire body. Some of it got
36
in my eyes, and they stung
badly for a moment. Then it
wore away, and I knew I was
ready.
I pressed the sealing-point
in the lifeshell’s upper inner
leg, right at the trunk-joint,
and it fell into two segments.
I fitted them around me, just
as I would a skin-tight suit
of clothing.
' Before I slipped on the
other half, though, I took a
quick look in the make-up
mirror from my dopkit, just
to remember what I looked
like.
Aaron Deems, SpaceCom
operative, with flaming red
hair, brown eyes, a facefull
of freckles, a bull neck
and continual beard-shadow.
Then I put on the other half
of the lifeshell.
It compressed me, and
fluffed me. It padded me and
enclosed me. It fitted like
skintights for an instant,
then even that was gone; it
was my second skin. No mat-
ter where they touched, I’d
feel it. They could torture
me, and the pain would be
as great as if they were real-
ly doing it to my own skin.
I could see, hear, feel, touch,
taste and breath as easily
as if the lifeshell weren’t
around me.
The lifeshell creators of
FANTASTIC
Cits XII are mastermen, and
geniuses of this particular
form of construction. Many
believe they have tapped the
life-source of the universe. I
couldn’t say; all I can vouch
for is that with one of their
lifeshells on me, I was a
woman. Not a man masquer-
ading as a woman . . . but
a woman in the flesh. The
lifeshell creators had been
doing this sort of work for
centuries, but it was such a
specialized craft, with such
little demand, and the Cits
Cluster was so far out, their
work had remained relatively
unknown.
SpaceCom used these life-
shells often, but the evidence
of their existence was so
slight, that few people ac-
tually realized such a thing
as a lifeshell existed.
I took out the flattened
clothing from the dopkit,
and let it inflate itself. I put
on the form-fitting knee-
length shorts, the tight body-
brassiere, and the ornamen-
tal coat-cloak. I had a bit of
trouble with the shoes — they
were buckled oddly, as most
women’s shoes are.
But in a few minutes I was
dressed, and looked into the
mirror a second time. Aaron
Deems was gone. I was a tall,
long-legged blonde, with blue
eyes, a startling figure, and
the thoughts of a man run-
ning around inside my head.
I had to watch that. It
could trip me up. So I de-
cided to follow through the
rest of the set-up, the way
the SpaceCom Preparation
Section had planned it.
They had hypno-buried the
basic, broad ways of female
thought and speech, in my
brain-centers. I remembered
the phrase they had told me
to say, to release the data,
and I said it. “Hell hath no
fury like a woman shorn.”
And the next instant I
could feel a cool tide of
strange thoughts bubbling up
out of my brainpan like
whipped cream in a squeeze-
bottle. I began to feel like a
woman, and when I tried to
analyze the situation again,
I found my observations and
ideas colored by an unfamil-
iar sort of reasoning. My
original, male, thoughts were
not removed, or submerged,
they were merely laid beside
these other thoughts, and I
had a dual picture of what
was happening.
“Now I know what I
would have been like, had I
been born a woman,” I mut-
tered, and was shocked to
hear my voice. Not the trem-
ulous baritone I had grown
up with, but a delicate.
WORLD OF WOMEN
37
slightly throaty, completely
musical soprano. I was, in-
deed, a woman.
"What a Hypno-Freudian
Psychman could do with
this situation!” I mumbled,
tossing everything back into
the dopkit. The only thing I
held out was my triple-thread
blastick and a tiny bottle of
decoagulator ... in case I
had to get rid of this life-
shell in a hurry. As a second
thought, I pulled out my
structuralizer. It might come
in handy.
Then I buried the dopkit,
too.
That done, I had to figure
a way of getting off the is-
land, onto the mainland, and
on the track of the warped
Sister. My briefing about
Arka Ill’s culture had neces-
sarily been sketchy : there
hadn’t been time, after all the
hypno burying, and what
was more important . . .
nothing was known of how
Arka III had changed since
the warped Sister began get-
ting her way.
So I wasn’t at all sure that
a pack of headhunting, can-
nibalistic females might not
come bounding out of the
brush at any moment. The
thought put a shiver down
my back — both my backs — so
I started walking.
28
I decided the smartest way
to do it would be to walk
the perimeter of the island,
keeping a few feet inside
the foliage line, but in sight
of the beach. That way I
could assay anything of
value, and still not be seen
from the air.
I started walking, finding
I wore the lifeshell with ease
and comfort. It was odd, of
course, feeling the wind
blowing my long blonde hair
about my face, and the dif-
ference in weight distribu-
tion along my frame; but in
all, it was as though I were
a woman.
And the lifeshell was good
support, kept me from tir-
ing as fast. In five hours I’d
walked the island, the foot-
prints in the red sands I’d
made when I started, meet-
ing me back at my starting
point.
The jungle grew in lush
yellow and blue profusion.
Touches of green were spat-
tered across the foliage, also,
showing a strange multi-col-
ored chlorophyll worked in
the plants. Once, a huge,
white-winged bird with
bright yellow markings slant-
ed down from the blazing
sky, dove into the trees amid
a flacking of ripped leaves,
and was silent.
But the island was not si-
FANTASTIC
lent. A million twitterings,
scratchings, trumpetings and
clickings reverberated from
the jungle.
Still there was no other
land-mass in sight. The is-
land was obviously not a key,
as I’d concluded. It appeared
my mission was bogged
down, almost before it had
started.
Which suddenly struck me
oddly. An outfit as competent
as SpaceCom, planning, plan-
ning, never leaving very
much to chance, to throw me
down here, without locomo-
tion, was more than just
strange. It was damn unnat-
ural, and it set me thinking:
they must have known there
would be some way for me
to get where I had to get, no
matter where I landed. But
what was it?
Why hadn’t I been told?
It didn’t figure, but I
couldn’t spend much more
time worrying about it, be-
cause night was closing in
fast. I had to get myself
sheltered and warm, before
those things that cackled and
roared in the jungle went
looking for dinner.
I gathered together a huge
mound of the lacey moss
clouding the ground, and
struck it alight with sparks
from two rocks. I was begin-
ning to feel very much like
a frontiersman . . . uh, fron-
tiers^ omaw.
I pulled down a dozen dry
branches from the mossy-top-
ped trees, and built a lean-to.
Covering it with more of the
moss was a simple matter,
and the whole preparation
took me less than an hour.
Then I settled down to
sleep, with the moss burning
slowly and cracklingly, and
strange dreams floating
through my head.
The dreams were of five
sticks, stuck in the ground.
One of them was bent and
twisted. Warped.
And somehow, I couldn’t
put my hands on that stick.
My sleep was lousy, and
exceedingly troubled.
The next morning, the
dreams materialized.
All night long I had
been having vague, formless
nightmares about the five
Sisters, and about a water-
scouter waiting at the
ocean’s edge, with a mois-
ture-proof packet in the con-
trol compartment. In that
packet were identification
papers, directions for get-
ting to the mainland, and
information about the situa-
tion on Arka III.
The dreams had been
repetitious, and had broken
in the early morning only be-
WORLD OF WOMEN
39
cause the moss had died out,
and the island cold seeped to
me,
I woke up, and got to my
feet stiffly. The chill of sleep-
ing on moss and soil had
tightened my body terrifical-
ly. I walked slowly, sleepily,
to the water’s edge, and
kneeled down, ducking my
face into the briney scarlet
water. Just before my face
plunged in, I caught a
glimpse of myself, and was
shocked. I was a woman. My
lean, crewcut head was a
mass of blonde hair. Silky
and whispering. Then the
events of the day before
rushed back to me, and the
shock wore away to numb-
ness.
I was washing the sticki-
ness from my eyes when I
heard the water slapping
against the metal sides of
the scouter. I looked up slow-
ly, hardly believing it, but
the dream had materialized.
The waterscouter was an-
chored by a borechain at the
ocean’s edge, and from where
I kneeled, I could see the
clear plastic of the packet,
lying on the control console.
I got to my feet feeling
even number than before.
Someone had been on the is-
land the night before, and
I’d slept through the visita-
tion. That person had left
me a means of transporta-
tion, information (I was
certain, of course, that the
dream had been correct, and
the packet did indeed con-
tain identification and direc-
tions), and hypno-buried an
awareness of the scene. Now
I was ai’med with directions.
But why hadn’t the person
wakened me? Why had these
things been left? Why hadn’t
guards been summoned, and
myself placed under arrest?
Was this what SpaceCom
had known would happen
when I landed, no matter
where I landed?
The questions chased each
other crystally around the
inside of my skull, finally
coming to rest on one solu-
tion.
Whoever it was, she was
a friend. That was apparent :
if it had been an enemy, I
would be dead. And whoever
it was, it had been Space-
Corn’s informant. Why she
didn’t want me to know who
she was . . . that was some-
thing I’d have to find out
later.
I started toward the wa-
terscouter, and stopped. I
remembered my blaster and
the sti'ucturalizer I’d left in
the lean-to.
When I’d retrieved them, I
went aboard the sleek.
40
FANTASTIC
needle-nosed waterscouter,
and opened the packet.
The papers identified me
(with accurate physical de-
scription) as Leona Francha.
The blank which said “occu-
pation” was left blank. For
which I was grateful. I had
yet to find out how Arka HI
was functioning, and my
work had to be flexible
enough to allow me roaming
time.
There were also course-
computer punchings, to get
me to the mainland, I sup-
posed. I had to trust them,
they were all I had. There
was also a note stuck in be-
tween two of the course-
comp punch-tapes. It was
from SpaceCom’s mysterious
informant, and it read:
“These papers and the
boat have been left by a
trusted agent of mine. No-
where on them will you find
a clue to my identity. It is
better that way. When the
time comes, you will know
me. Your ship was tracked
by radar, and was seen fall-
ing into the Western, but I
arranged to have the reports
sidetracked and deadened.
So, in effect, no one but my-
self knows you are on Arka
III. I wish you success, and
warn you that the person you
seek is ruthless.”
It was unsigned, and I
read it through again.
Abruptly, it began to grow
warm in my fingers. Even as
I watched it, the paper
charred at the edges. Then a
tiny tower of flame leaped
up, and I dropped the paper.
In an instant it was worth-
less charred scrap, the wind
tossing and carrying it.
Whoever, had sent me
help, and that note, for some
reason didn’t want me to
know who she was. Whether
out of fear of her warped
Sister, or some other reason,
I now had tiuo people to
find: the warped Sister, and
the SpaceCom informant.
And I was certain they were
both of the Five.
Somehow, I had to get
close to the Five.
I submerged that thought
in my mind for a while, and
revolved the borechain back
into the waterscouter. Then
I di’opped the coursecomp
rolls into their tubes, punch-
ed the “go” button, and set-
tled back in one of the
bucket-seats to see where the
boat was going to take me.
The trip took less than
three hours, with the scouter
hitting close to one-sixty all
the way. Toward the end, I
saw the bulk of a continent
rise up before the boat. First
WORLD OF WOMEN
41
it was a thin, pencil line at
the water’s edge, then it was
a long, thick black rope,
then it bulked huge suddenly,
and I imagined this was the
continent of Arkasome. On
which was the capital city of
Arka III, Arka Center. And
in that city were the Five,
ruling this planet for five
hundred years, till one of
them had gone mad.
The boat scooted through
a channel, and made slightly
slower speed down a great
river, for another hour.
Finally, the willowy towers
and flying arches of Arka
Center slipped above the
horizon, and twenty minutes
later I docked.
I went ashore, wondering
why I hadn’t been met with
intercontinental customs in-
spection, and realized they
just might not have any. A
united planet like Arka III
might have dispensed with
that long ago, and only
maintained spaceship in-
spection. Since I hadn’t come
in the normal way, I was
free of that.
The city was a hodge-
podge. It was apparent they
had tried to lay it out ac-
cording to some municipal
plan, but in the way all cities
have of overflowing their
bounds, this one had sprawl-
ed off in all directions. At its
heart the streets radiated
outward like the spokes of a
wheel, with all municipal
buildings near the hub, and
business districts toward the
rim. But there it stopped. In
and around and between the
planned sections, other sec-
tions had sprouted, till the
streets toward the outer rim
were twisting and narrow,
covered with little shops, and
dark alleys. Some streets
came to dead ends unexpect-
edly, and others widened like
fresh flowers into wide
boulevards. The building
structure was also odd.
None of the buildings were
conventional tower affairs.
Many were so thin, it seem-
ed the first wind would
shatter them like icicles.
Others were thick and stout
as tree-trunks, and several
even looked like the mossy-
topped trees of the jungle.
Parks were everywhere, and
streetcorner shops in the
open-air flourished.
With everything covered
by the strange red light of
Arka, and the multi-colored
shadows it cast
And somehow, without
conscious intention, eveiy
building in Arka Center
leaned toward the exact cen-
ter of the wheel. Where the
Haven of the Five Sisters
stood. Like some mammoth
42
FANTASTIC
crouching animal, settled
back on its haunches and
panting, staring from a mil-
lion lightless eyes, its mouth
covered by an electro-charged
drawbridge. It sat there,
towering over every other
building in the huge city, and
at its topmost minaret, a
machine that seemed to be a
searchlight — without beam
— turned, turned, turned,
constantly turned, never set-
tling anywhere, but playing
down across the entire city,
to its outermost edge.
That bothered me for a
moment, though I did not
know why, and I threw off
the feeling of discomfort
only with effort.
I walked the streets, and
watched silently. I wanted to
find out what was wrong in
the matriarchal set-up of
Arka III, by discovery. If
someone had to point it out
to me, it might be the warped
Sister, and I wouldn’t have
long to enjoy my knowledge.
As I walked the plasteel
pavements, pavements that
gave slightly beneath my
weight, I realized that the
informant’s words had been
true. There were no men on
Arka III. Whether they had
all been killed, as she said,
or were imprisoned some-
where, it didn’t matter. This
was a world of women, and
it seemed no man was safe
here.
The women were not a
race of beautiful amazons,
however. There were attrac-
tive girls and beautiful girls,
of course. But there were
also ugly ones and plain
ones. It was a complete cross-
section, that might be gath-
ered on any other planet,
were the men to be excluded.
One thing I noticed, was
the lack of attentiveness to
the body. Even girls that
were striking walked around
with dirty shorts, unkempt
hair, smudged faces. There
seemed no pretense at make-
up beauty, as on the other
worlds of the galaxy. I reas-
oned the absence of men had
removed that necessity.
And another thing I no-
ticed, the girls were all some-
what shorter than myself. In
my lifeshell I was just under
six feet. No one else came
up to my chin.
Once, a helotruck lifted
from a building-deck, and
took off straight up, loaded
with young girls in farming
clothes. Big, floppy hats with
transparent slots in them so
they could see the rows of
crops they were harvesting,
while being protected from
the blistering heat of Arka.
They were undoubtedly
WORLD OF WOMEN
43
bound for the Center farm-
ing areas, outside the city,
near the river.
So work as usual was be-
ing carried on. Even with a
dozen worlds under their
thumb, the Arkan females
were still turning out their
crops. Probably for enslaved
markets on those other
worlds, at fantastically raised
prices. The conquests had
been economically sound,
then. Which indicated the
warped Sister might not be
as warped as she seemed.
And then, too, there was
that searchlight atop the
Haven. Turning, turning,
turning . . .
It only took me two days
to find an occupation. I reg-
istered in at the Golden Leaf
Hotel — an icicle tower some
forty storeys high with drop-
shafts instead of escalators
— and got out of showing my
i.d. papers on the pretext
they were arriving with my
baggage the next day or so.
I paid in advance for a week,
from money that had been
furnished me by SpaceCom,
and went out to buy some
new clothes. While shopping,
the second day, I noticed
something odd. Or rather,
I noticed something that
wasn’t odd. That wasn’t
there.
Arka Center had no shops
with art of any sort. There
were no paintings, no sculp-
ture, no music shops where
trecords or scan-music could
be purchased. Few book
shops, and those contained
volumes mainly on non-fic-
tion subjects, of interest to
homemakers, farmers or
technicians. There was no
fiction.
I asked a clerk in one of
the few bookstores what had
happened to the art-forms on
Arka III, and she looked at
me strangely.
“What art-forms? We
haven’t time for that sort of
thing. Artists and sculptors
were recruited for the raid-
ing battalions. Didn’t you
know that? Say, where are
you from?”
She was a short, dumpy
thing with frowzled brown
hair pulled into a knot at the
base of her head, with square
glasses and protruding ears.
But she was enough of an
old maid snoopy to wonder
why I didn’t know something
as obvious as that.
“I’ve, uh, been away for a
long while. Brought up over-
seas. You know. I’m just try-
ing to get re-adjusted, to get
established again.”
The suspicion flattened
out on her face, but didn’t
disappear completely.
44
FANTASTIC
I got away from there in
a hurry.
And the next day I bought
rental on a little shop, in the
center of the business area,
not too far from the Haven.
Using my structuralizer on
some clay I brought up from
the riverbank outside Arka
Center, I went to work mold-
ing and dye-coloring some
statuettes.
They weren’t the greatest
works of art I’d ever seen,
but the structuralizer was
used on all the worlds near
the center of the galaxy, to
temper sculpture done by
artists. I wasn’t certain
they’d heard of the practice
here. I hadn’t seen any struc-
turalizers, and thought the
plan had every chance of
succeeding.
What I wanted to do, was
draw a certain kind of atten-
tion to myself, to get the
Five interested in me. That
might bring me into their
circle of awareness, and from
then on out, I’d have to play
it by ear.
The shop had been open
only one day, when the rush
began. It was amazing how
starved for even the smallest
luxury of artistic effort these
women were. They bought
every one of the several hun-
dred little figurines and
ornate bowls I had structur-
alized, and clamored for
more.
I had to close up, telling
them I was out of stock, but
that I’d have more the next
week.
Then I spent several days
gathering more clay, scrap
metal, plastic bits and other
assorted raw materials. In a
few days I had another
shop full. The structuralizer
quickly re-aligned the atoms
of the material, allowing
me to project them into any
shape or color. It took me a
very short time to produce
an effort of at-least-seeming-
competence.
On the second day after I
re-opened, two Haven guards
came for me.
I was surprised to find that
I looked on these women as
just women. Not as sexual
objects, but as people. It was,
of course, the odd effects of
my hypno-conditioning. And
I found it a good thing. Had
I let my normal, masculine
attitudes toward women
loose. I’d have been thrown
into prison for some sort of
perversion. I had found out
that there were breeding
grounds on one of the con-
quered worlds, where men
were kept for just that pur-
pose. But other than that
strictly regulated contact,
WORLD OF WOMEN
45
these women had no interest,
made no mention other than
necessary, of men. They were
female in the sheerest sense
of the world.
But they were as powerful
as men, I found out.
The guards closed down
my shop, took me and a car-
'rier full of figurines, and led
me by groundcar to the
Haven.
Where I was put in soli-
tary confinement.
Where I waited for what
seemed a full day.
When they finally came
back, I wouldn’t move till
they answered a couple of
questions. They could have
moved me easily enough had
they wanted to, but it seemed
easier to them to answer my
questions; and I was a head
taller than either of them.
They were heavily-muscled
girls, no more than twenty
years old each, and they
seemed to like their work. I
didn’t want to have a knock-
down-dragout with them, so
I made my questions as po-
lite as possible:
“Why was I brought here?
Why did you close up my
shop?”
The redhead settled back
against her triple-thread
blaster rifle, and looked at
me with a bored expression.
“We only do as we’re told.
Sister Karta said get you . . .
so we got you. Anything
else, you’ll have to check with
her.”
That seemed to be that, so
I got off the hard bunk and
let them lead me down the
corridor. It was a short one,
and the ceiling angled to a V
at the roof. There was a
lighting element concealed in
the trough of the ceiling, and
lit the place with the same
odd crimson glare as outside.
I had grown accustomed to
it by now, but felt better
when we stepped into a drop-
shaft that carried us up sev-
eral floors. They walked me
out of the corridor then, and
down a short, carpeted hall.
They left me standing before
a heavy door, and walked
back, disappeared down the
dropshaft.
I looked around, and took
a tentative step away, just
to see what would happen,
when the voice came out of
a squawkbox above the door.
“Stand where you are
please. You are being
scanned. Miss Francha.”
After a few moments, the
door opened inward, and I
saw a perfectly businesslike
office. Heavy draperies, a
solid black desk, and several
business machines near the
wall. Bookcases and trecorder
46
FANTASTIC
cabinets lined the remaining
empty walls. “Come in, won’t
you, Miss Francha.” The
voice was a well-controlled,
deeply-toned one, that sug-
gested great poise and
knowledge. Shrewdness and
experience were there too.
I stepped into the office,
and the door closed silently
behind me. Silently, tightly.
I walked into the room,
and a group of lighting ele-
ments concealed in the rug
sprang to life, casting oif a
pleasant green glow under-
foot. Then I saw the speaker.
She was sitting behind the
desk, of course, but so low
in the overstuffed chair that
she had been hidden from
sight before. She was tiny,
and wizened, and her hair
was a fantastic mottled blue.
Her face resembled a prune
pit, and I could barely dis-
cern the glimmer of sparkles
that were her deeply-sunken
eyes.
“Sister Karta?” I asked,
because I knew no other
name.
She nodded, and passed
her hand over the deskon-
sole. A chair slid out of the
front of the desk for me. She
motioned me to be seated,
and I did it quickly.
There was something about
her that unsettled me.
“Who are you. Miss Fran-
cha?”
Her question took me off-
stride. She wasn’t beating
around any orbits. This
woman knew something, or
at least suspected something,
and she didn’t cater to any
dawdling. I had to answer,
and I had to answer sharp,
or there would be trouble;
with Aaron Deems-Leona
Francha on the sticky end.
“I-I’m just Leona Francha,
Sister. That’s all.”
Her face, the wizened
prune pit that it was, shrank
even more. Into a picture of
hatred. She didn’t like de-
fiance.
“Don’t lie to me!” her
voice lost its cultured over-
tones, became a bird rasp.
“Don’t lie to me! I know
everything that goes on un-
der Arkan rule, and there
wasn’t an artisan left after
conscription! How did you
escape?”
That gave me the edge,
and I stammered through the
next fifteen minutes, excus-
ing myself for draft-dodging,
pleading the cause of my art.
Finally, her face broke
into a smile. She edged closer
to the desk, and passed her
hand over the konsole once
again, this time with the fin-
gers in a different position.
A finely-carved bowl — one
47
WORLD OF WOMEN
of my own — ^rose out of the
smooth desktop, supported in
a metal-armed palm, and
filled with mints, “Have one,
my dear,” she said sweetly,
and I took one, nibbled it
delicately.
She leaned even closer, till
her flat, scrawny chest was
against the polished ebony of
the desk. “Fm glad I got to
you before Tulla or Gersell.
They would have had you put
to death, but I was always a
lover of the arts, and this
conscription seemed unneces-
sary to me.
“I like your work, my
dear. You must do some of
it for me especially. There
hasn’t been much of that
since . . . since ...” her old,
sunken eyes moved toward
the wall behind me, and to-
ward the ceiling. Somehow,
inexplicably, I knew she was
referring to the searchlight
mechanism on the roof.
“But . . . that was another
time,” and there was a note
of weariness in her voice.
Five hundred years of weari-
ness. “You won’t have to
worry about being conscript-
ed any longer, my dear. You
are now under my protection.
Go back to your shop, and
make me some fine statuary.”
She smiled at me, a black
line of mouth widening mo-
mentarily to show toothless
48
gums. Then I found myself
moving back across the rug,
over the lights that went out
as I passed, and out the door.
The last thing I saw, as
the door tightened behind
me, was Sister Karta, fon-
dling with exquisite slow-
ness, the bowl of mints. Her
eyes were closed.
Was that the warped Sis-
ter?
When I walked back to my
shop, I was escorted by two
guards — not the ones who
had arrested me. They left
me at the door, saluted, so
help me God ! and wheeled
away. I just stood there for
a second and watched them
mai-ch away, realizing how
powerful the Five really
were.
Powerful enough to close
up an art shop, powerful
enough to bend a planet of
women to their will, po^ver-
ful enough to conquer their
end of the galaxy. Or at
least, one of them was that
powerful.
I looked up at that search-
light affair atop the Haven.
It now assumed a more
prominent position in my
calculations. Not only did I
have to track down the
warped Sister, but I had to
wreck that device.
Whatever it was, it was
FANTASTIC
bending the thoughts of
these women to war and the
hatred of men. Whichever
one of the Sisters had con-
structed and placed that ma-
chine in operation, she had
probably known it would
change the Arkan females
before anyone could rip
down the machine.
But what kept it inviolate
now? Was there some safety
mechanism up there that
prevented anyone from get-
ting to it? I knew it was the
device that was causing the
change in the Arkans . . .
Sister Karta had shown me
that, inadvertently.
Well, then, it was obvious
she wasn’t the warped Sis-
ter. She was unhappy about
the wars. Or was she? Could
that have been a cover-up? I
was back where I’d started,
and if anything, slightly
more confused.
I opened the shop and
went back to making figu-
rines. I had to stop myself
once, finding myself con-
structing a doll-like replica
of Sister Karta — prune face,
sunken, aged eyes, blue hair
— and reduce it to slag with
the structuralizer.
Late that night, I had left
the front door open while I
worked, for the heat of the
day had melted off slowly,
and the refreshing breezes in
off the river cooled me as I
worked, when I heard some-
one come into the shop.
I was in the back, and
called out, “I’m closed now.
I’m sorry, but would you
come back tomor — ”
There had been no answer,
and I looked up in the middle
of a word, to see a tall, thin
woman, taller than myself,
wrapped in a night-black
cape and hood that concealed
her face. I dropped the bowl
I had been working on, and
it tinkled to flinders at my
feet.
I tried to ask who she was,
but found my tongue stuck
to the floor of my mouth.
“You are Leona Francha,
the protegee of Sister Karta?
You are she?” her voice was
a whisper. It sounded like the
dead sands of the Flakoorian
Deserts, whispering against
one another.
I nodded slowly, lifting
my arm away from my side
slightly, so the blastick could
drop free from my armpit,
and into my hand if I needed
it quickly.
She shrugged her head,
and the cowl dropped back
across her shoulders. She
was a narrow-faced woman
of about thirty-five, with
striking eyes of blue, and a
clear complexion. Her hair
WORLD OF WOMEN
49
was auburn and wound in
braids atop her head.
“I am Sister Mannone,”
she said, and my estimate of
thirty-five went far WTong.
Five hundred and thirty-five
was closer.
“Can I help you, Sister?”
I asked,^ bowing slightly.
“I think you can help me,”
she replied, and sat down in
the one relaxer I’d bought
for the workroom. “I am
your contact on Arka III.”
She smiled up at me warmly,
and I felt the heaviness in
my stomach ease away. The
informant.
Still, I wasn’t certain, so I
let her lead me in the conver-
sation.
“My contact, Sister Man-
none? I’m not certain I know
what you mean.”
Her face darkened. “You
are an Operative of Space-
Corn, here on Arka III to
eliminate my Sister who has
turned our planet into a
world of war. Is that suffi-
cient, Miss Francha, or
should I quote you verbatim
the message I sent?”
That would do nicely, and
I told her so.
She quoted it exactly.
Relief washed me quickly.
“I’m glad to be of service to
you. Sister,” I said then.
“There isn’t much time to
lose,” she said, leaning for-
ward with intensity. Her
eyes were tired, and I imag-
ined she had been through a
great deal. “The day after to-
morrow will begin an all-out
campaign upon the Sulaquen
Worlds, and many thousands
will die, unless we can stop
her.”
I interrupted. “Who do
you mean by ‘her,’ Sister?”
“You haven’t been able to
tell yet? You met her. You
are her ward. Karta, of
course.”
I had reasoned it out that
way, also, but I wanted to
hear her say it. I didn’t
think it would be appro-
priate for the moment to let
■ her know I was a man. Later,
not now.
“What do you have in
mind?”
She leaned closer, said,
“The reason I needed you was
that she is invulnerable to
anyone of this world. The
conditioning of our people,
for the last five hundred
years has made it impossible
for anyone to kill a Sister.
And as if that weren’t
enough, we have our personal
Barriers.”
“Barriers?”
“Yes. I’ll show you.” She
stood up, handed me a bar
of plasteel. “Hit me with
that,” she said.
50
FANTASTIC
I took the bar and looked
at it, then at her, with in-
credulity. That bar was
enough to stave in the side
of a scouter. It wasn’t heavy,
but it was tremendously
strong. “Surely you can’t
mean that.”
“Hit me!”
Her tone was one of com-
mand, and I felt myself lift-
ing the bar, swinging it,
before I could stop myself.
The bar slammed toward
her, hit a point about an inch
away from her body, and re-
bounded. The bar flew from
my hand and sailed across
the room, shattering a stand
of figurines I had finished
that evening.
“That protects us from
each other.”
“Then how do you expect
me to do anything to her?”
I was still stunned by the
Barrier display; they might
not know about structural iz-
ers here on Arka III, but
they had a few things
SpaceCom would have given
a great deal to possess.
“I have had one of my per-
sonal technicians working on
an attachment for the wave-
generator atop the Haven,”
she said, “and she has per-
fected it so that now it will
cancel out personal Barriers,
within its own closed field.
“What I propose is that we
have a special showing of
your work, in the roof-gar-
dens, tomorrow, and I will
have my technician install
the attachment. Then when
her Barrier goes off, you can
kill her quickly. I would do
it myself, but there would be
repercussions from my Sis-
ters, should they discover I
killed Karta.
“Then, I will make certain
you are freed. You can leave
Arka HI, and we will go
back to peace and farming.”
It sounded intricate and
odd, but I had to agree.
“Tomorrow, then,” she
said finally, rising. “I’ll send
my personal guards for you
about three o’clock.”
I thanked her, and watched
her leave, as silently as she
had come. Then I sat down
to think.
If she was telling the
truth, and Karta was the
warped Sister, then her ex-
planations were fine.
But . . .
If she was lying (and
somehow I trusted her even
less than the wizened Karta)
then there was another ex-
planation altogether. She had
me pegged, all right. That
much I knew. So if I came
up to the Haven, and she had
the Barriers turned off, and
I killed Karta, she might kill
WORLD OF WOMEN
51
me, and say, “This is a spy.
She has killed our sister !
Death to all spies!” and that
would be that.
That way she could get
two birds with one stone,
and not have to worry about
any repercussions of justice.
But that meant Karta was
my informant. Why hadn’t
she said something to me?
Was she waiting for a show-
down like this one tomor-
row?
I could only wait and find
out.
But while I waited, I
hatched a few ideas myself.
The roof gardens of the
Haven were a blue and white
and gold melange of blossoms
and growths and vines.
And there, in its own
sheathing, with a Barrier
around it — naturally — was
the wave generator Mannone
had spoken about.
The Sisters were gathered
around my displays, while I
showed them how a structur-
alizer worked, and they paid
close attention. The other
three Sisters ' were there :
Tulla, Gersel, and Pilbee.
They ranged from a little
square of a woman to
a voluptuous flame-haired
beauty. These women had
used their longevity in differ-
ent forms. And I was sure
each one was satisfied with
what she looked like.
Karta was there, and her
sunken eyes roved quickly
back and forth.
I talked to them for a half
hour, till I saw a young girl
come onto the roof, walk
quickly to the wave genera-
tor, while the Sisters’ backs
were to it, and attach a small
metal box just outside the
Barrier.
Then I saw the machine
waver, and I knew the Bar-
rier was gone. The Sisters
must have known it too, be-
cause they wavered also, and
their Barriers were gone. All
but Mannone’s. Hers remain-
ed fixed . . . for she had not
wavered.
Then I knew I had been
right in my second guess.
Mannone was the warped
one, and this was a clever
plot.
I saw Mannone eying me
carefully, as the other Sis-
ters looked about wildly, as
though trying to regain their
Barriers. She wanted me to
kill Karta, so she could put
me out of the way, and take
over Arka III completely.
I let the blastick drop into
my hand, and aimed it at
Karta. I saw Mannone mov-
ing toward her waist-pouch,
thrown over a relaxer on the
52
FANTASTIC
roof, and I knew there was a
triple-threader in there, too.
But I didn’t fire my
blastick. I grabbed for the
structuralizer. I knew Man-
none had somehow rigged
her own Barrier so it would
remain on, but it had to be
off under her feet, otherwise
she couldn’t have touched
ground. So that was her
Achilles Heel. Literally.
I aimed the structuralizer
at her feet and melted away
the roof under her feet. She
slipped and fell in the puddle
of molten metal, and I heard
her scream sharply as the
red-hot matter burned her
feet.
She fell,, and the Barrier
wavered. It was gone, and in
a moment I had bathed her
in liquid fire from my bias-
tick.
Then the Sisters were on
me, and someone laid one of
my own figurines alongside
my skull. I went down into
pitch-darkness.
When I came to, I was
looking up at the blast fur-
nace of Arka itself. I was on
the roof, and Karta was hur-
riedly explaining what had
happened — as much as she
knew of it — to her Sisters.
I felt the bottle of decoag-
ulator in my waist-pouch,
and I figured now was the
time to back up Karta’s
story.
I pulled it out, moving
quickly and smoothly, for
they weren’t looking at me,
thinking I was still uncon-
scious.
I applied the bottle to the
seam-point of the lifeshell,
and felt the godawful burn-
ing of it!
It was as though someone
were stripping my flesh from
me in rolls. I stood up and
screamed . . .
. . . and then the lifeshell
dropped away.
They stared at me for a
second, and then they were
on me again, battering me
with their fists, screaming,
“Man! Man! Man! Kill him,
it’s a man!”
All I had on was the loin-
cloth I’d worn under the life-
shell, and they were beating
me quite effectively, till I
realized why. The wave gen-
erator was still going strong.
I shoved against the red-
haired Pilbee’s full chest, and
she went back into the other
three. I made a dash for the
blastick I’d dropped when
they’d cold-caulked me, and
came up with it spouting. I
aimed at the little box near
the searchlight-shaped mech-
anism, because it wasn’t
inside the Barrier, but was
hooked to it somehow. The
WORLD OF WOMEN
53
box blew up, and the Banner
around the generator waver-
ed. It was gone, and I poured
on the power.
With a rending of scream-
ing of howling of metal tear-
ing itself to atoms, the ma-
chine blew itself up, and the
roof was sprayed with flying
parts.
I ducked behind a display,
barely missing being flat-
tened by a chunk of plating
bigger than my head.
When I came back up, I
saw the other four Sisters
were all right, but were
standing around looking con-
fused, shaking their heads.
They were coming out
from under the effects of the
generator.
Karta came over to me,
and held out her hand in
Earth style greeting.
I had one big question:
“Why didn’t you let me
know who you were ? And
how did Mannone find out I
was an Operative?”
“I had another plan of my
own for luring Mannone out
of the city but somehow
she found the re-i’outed re-
ports of your ship’s sinking
in the Western, and reasoned
you were another Operative.
Then she waited till some-
thing unusual occurred — such
as your arrival in the city.
and the opening of your shop
— and sent her guards to get
you. I intercepted them.
“So she knew she had to
get rid of you more subtly.
That was why all this. Had
I had another day, I would
have told you all this . . . but
she was listening on a room-
tap to our conversation that
day, so I couldn’t.”
We talked a while longer,
and I found out they were
withdrawing their troops
from all the conquered
worlds, and bringing back
the men from the breeding
planet.
I grammed SpaceCom and
let them know the job was
done, and then settled back
to wait for a relief ship to
pick me up.
Sister Karta found me,
just leaving the radio shack
in the Haven.
“Is there anything I can
do for you while you remain
on Arka HI?”
Grinning, I said, “Sister,
there isn’t a thing you can do
for me. Except to let me wan-
der around Arka Center on
my own.” She thought more
protocol was in order, but I
shooed the idea off.
I like the idea.
The one man on a planet
of male-starved women . . .
you bet your life I liked the
idea. the end
54
FANTASTIC
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56
This was the lair of the Khethlani. What dread
secrets of injustice were hidden here?
THE
MYSTERY
OF
DENEB IV
By ROBERT SILVERBERG
T he first thing that crossed
Dave Carter’s mind was
that the SOS was some kind
of hoax. Then a fist thudded
into the back of his neck, and
he knew it was worse than a
hoax — it was a trap.
His knees sagged and he
grabbed wildly for the side of
his spaceship. Steadying him-
self, he struck out with a fist.
His unknown assailant
grunted. Carter’s eyes widen-
ed as he discovered he was
fighting another Earthman,
here on this alien world in
the Deneb system. What the
devil is this? Carter asked
himself, as his fist crashed
into the other’s stomach.
They ask me to come rescue
them — and then they jump
me from behind.
The man was wearing the
gray-and-gold uniform of the
When Dave Carter tried to res-
cue the Denebians he found him-
self in a den of thieves. And he
had cause to remember Shake-
speare’s observation: "He who
steals my purse steals trash."
missing Vanguard expedition.
He was a big, rangy space-
man. His eyes glittered with
a cold menace that Carter had
never seen in human eyes
before.
Carter reached back, grasp-
ed the rungs of the ladder
behind him with both hands,
and kicked out at the other.
The man crumpled backward
onto the ground. Carter ran
over to him.
He put a knee on the oth-
er’s chest. “Who are you?”
he demanded.
Xo answer.
“Why’d you send out an
SOS?” Carter demanded.
The other man glared cold-
ly at him without replying.
Carter pulled him to a sit-
ting position and slapped
him, twice, hard. “Answer
me! You’re from the Van-
57
fjiuird expedition, aren’t
you ?”
“Yes.” The voice sounded
steely, metallic.
“Then vhy’d you jump
me? I picked up your SOS
and came down here to rescue
you! Answer me!”
“You’ll know the answers
soon enough.”
Carter shook his head an-
grily. “I want to know right
now. Where are the other
members of the expedition?”
“They are here. They are
all safe.”
Pulling the other to his
feet. Carter drew his blaster
and said, “Suppose you take
me to them — right now. I
want some explanation of all
this. Move!”
An hour before. Carter had
been in space, traveling alone
from the Base Hospital on
Rigel IV toward Ophiuchus
VII. He expected to spend his
period of convalescence there.
Ophiuchus VII was a low-
grav world set aside as a
vacation planet for recupei’-
ating invalids.
Carter had been injured in
a reactor explosion aboard
the Starship Alpha Centauri,
where he had been navigator.
He came out of that pretty
lightly — radiation burns, a
fractured skull, and little
other damage. Some skin
58
grafts and a complicated
titanium-plate rebuild had his
body and his skull as good as
new within weeks. He was
on his way to Ophiuchus to
rest up before returning to
spaceline duty.
But his flight was inter-
rupted when his detectors
picked up an SOS as he pass-
ed the Deneb system.
“SOS! SOS! General rescue
call!”
It was coming over on a
wide-beam cast. Carter local-
ized it on Deneb IV, an un-
explored world, and replied,
“I hear you. Who’s this?”
“Survey Ship Vanguard.
We’re in trouble.”
“How many are you?”
“Twelve, altogether. Ur-
gent that you rescue us.”
Carter glanced around his
small ship. Its maximum ca-
pacity was flfteen; he could
just about make it. “I’ll be
right down,” he said. “Give
me landing coordinates.”
They read off a string of
flgures and he computed an
orbit. Minutes later, he had
set his ship down in the exact
spot they had selected, only
to find the planet bare of life
and no Earthmen in sight.
He had looked around,
puzzled. Then the rang\’
spaceman had struck him
from behind.
And now. Carter was fol-
FANTASTIC
lowing his captive through a
wild, untamed jungle, head-
ing into some strange mys-
tery at whose nature he could
only guess. The titanium
plate in his skull was begin-
ning to itch faintly as he
moved deeper and deeper into
the jungle.
After a while, signs of in-
habitation began to appear.
Carter spotted the golden hull
of a spaceship towering above
the trees, and touched his
guide’s arm. “Is that the
VanguardT’
“Yes.”
Behind the ship. Carter
could now see a large clear-
ing, and people moving
around in it, clad in the uni-
form of the Survey Division
of the Intergalactic Federa-
tion. There was a building in
the background, square and
dull-gray.
A man stepped forward to
meet them. He was distin-
guished-looking and wore the
uniform of a Squadron
Leader.
“I’m Gendron,” he said.
“Commander of the Van-
gimrd”
“The name’s Dave Carter,
navigator, late of Starship
Alpha Centauri. I picked up
your SOS call.”
Gendron blinked. “SOS?
What SOS?”
“The one you sent out, of
THE MYSTERY OF DENEB tV
course,” Carter replied, as-
tonished. “I’ve got it on tape
back at my ship. You askgd
for immediate rescue, said it
was urgent. I landed, and this
man here attacked me. I man-
aged to get him under con-
trol.”
Gendron looked mystified.
“There’s been some misun-
derstanding here. We’re in no
trouble whatever — in fact,
we’re doing splendidly. As
you can see, we’ve erected
our headquarters building,
and we’re settling about to
map the planet, according to
instructions.”
Carter frowned. “W’hat
about this man here?”
“You mean Sherman? I’m
afraid I can’t tell you.” The
Squadron Leader turned to
Carter’s captive. “Did you
attack this man?”
“No,” Sherman said. “He
jumped me first.”
“That’s a lie!” snapped
Carter. “I came out of my
ship to see where you people
were, and he hit me from
behind.”
Gendron glanced at him
quizzically. “That’s hard to
believe. Sherman’s one of my
most reliable men. Lieutenant
Carter, I’m inclined to doubt
your entire story. Would you
mind explaining yourself?”
Carter began to feel a
59
growing sense of exaspera-
tion. “Look,” he said. “I was
minding my own business
when this SOS came. I’m on
leave now; I’m wasting my
precious free time fooling
with you people. So I picked
up your SOS, and I landed.
Then this man hit me. That’s
all I can tell you.”
“I’m completely at a loss to
jlarify,” said the Squadron
Leader. “So far as I know, we
sent out no SOS. We’re in
no danger here. We haven’t
even begun to complete our
work. I’m sorry if we’ve
caused you some inconven-
ience.”
Carter shook his head.
Maybe Fm going batty, he
thought. Maybe that blast
aboard the Alpha C juggled
my brains as well as cracked
my- skull. Maybe I didn’t hear
any SOS after all.
“Okay,” he said finally.
“I’ll 'go back to my ship and
blast off. Forget the whole
thing.”
“That might be the
best idea,” Gendron agreed.
“Would you v/ant Sherman to
show you the way?”
“I think I can find it my-
self,” Carter said. He turned
and headed out of the clear-
ing, trying to convince him-
self that he still had a little
of his sanity left.
He moved about three
steps. Then something struck
him a ringing blow on the
back of his head, and he top-
pled to the ground.
Carter woke, feeling as if
a mountain had fallen on him.
His head ached miserably, his
eyes wouldn’t focus, his
tongue felt thick and sand-
papery.
He tried to move his hands,
and discovered that he was
securely bound. His arms
were strapped together with
what looked like leather
thongs, and his ankles were
tied as well.
He was in a dark, window-
less room — probably some-
where in the squat building
in the clearing.
He struggled to get his
mind functioning again. All
he could think of was the way
his head hurt.
Gendron had hit him from
behind. That seemed to be the
rule, on this planet. After
denying everything about the
SOS, Gendron had clubbed
him when he wasn’t looking.
It didn’t figure.
And there was that faint
tickling in his skull, beside
the raw pain of the bruise.
He didn’t understand that
either.
Carter sat up against the
cold wall of the dark room,
and yanked at his bonds.
60
FANTASTIC
They didn’t give. He was
trussed like a Christmas tur-
key — for what?
Suddenly, he stopped mov-
ing, and listened.
Voices.
They were speaking in the
same cold, metallic tones the
spaceman Sherman had used
when Carter first landed.
“I don’t understand it,”
someone said. “He walked
right through the control.”
“It was peculiar, all right.
He came within the , sphere
of radiation and it didn’t
have any effect at all. Gen-
dron had to club him or he
would have gotten away.”
“We couldn’t have that,”
the first voice said. “We need
all the men we can get for
The Project.”
Project? What project?
Carter asked himself. What
the blazes is this, anyway?
The voices stopped, leaving
Carter alone in the darkness.
Conjectures ran through his
mind, none of them adding
up to anything but the ob-
vious fact that the Survey
Squad of the Vanguard was
up to something fishy.
His head still throbbed, but
not as badly as before. The
itchy tickling still continued.
It was — it was almost as if
something were trying to
enter his mind! He fought a
desperate desire to break his
THE MYSTERY OF DENEB IV
bonds and rip open the front
of his skull and scratch away
the tickling before it drove
him insane.
If I’m not insane already,
he thought grimly.
A light flickered some-
where in the distance, and
then the door of his cell open-
ed. Someone came in. Carter
blinked as light flooded in. It
was a few moments before
he could see.
Gendron stood there.
“I see you’re awake, Lieu-
tenant Cai’ter.”
“Damned perceptive of you,
Gendron. I’ll bet you see I’m
breathing, too.”
Gendron chuckled hollowly,
“I’ve come to apologize for
hitting you yesterday. It was
a misunderstanding.”
“Oh? Like the phony SOS
was a misunderstanding?”
Gendron seemed to scowl.
He turned and gestured to
someone beyond Carter’s
view, and two more men en-
tered the cell.
“Well? How does it look?”
one of them asked.
“Not so good,” said Gen-
dron. “I don’t think he’s un-
der control yet. I don’t know
how he can resist so well.”
“You sure he’s still under
his own will? How can you
tell?”
“He’s belligerent,” said
Gendron, “He’s the same as
he was last night.”
“The Khethlani never
fails,” said one of the two
men. “How could it go
wrong?”
Carter frowned. Apparent-
ly they expected him to have
been taken over by someone
or something — and he hadn’t
been.
“Sorry to disappoint you,
Gendron. Your whatever-it-is
just hasn’t taken hold.”
“Very strange. Carter. We
may have to kill you.”
“You know the Khethlani
doesn’t like to lose men,” one
of the others reminded Gen-
dron. “We ought to do every-
thing we can to bring him
under control.”
Gendron nodded. “Untie his
legs.”
One of the men bent and
unwrapped the thongs. Im-
mediately Carter’s foot lashed
out in a vicious kick that sent
the other away yelling.
Gendron slapped Carter
twice. Then he said, “That
proves it. He’s definitely not
under control. Let’s take him
to the Khethlani.”
They shoved him roughly
out of the room and down a
long, winding corridor to-
ward a distant door. As they
pushed him along, Carter
felt the itching inside his skull
grow to fierce proportions.
until he could hardly bear it.
The faces of his three captors
became oddly peaceful, oddly
emotionless, as they drew
near the door.
Gendron stepped forward
and threw a switch. The door
slid upward. Carter looked
in — and saw the Khethlani.
It was a pulsing mass of
protoplasm some twenty feet
across, floating in a bath of
some thick gray-green fluid
that roiled obscenely beneath
its bulk. A single great eye
stared upward from the mid-
dle of the thing, and from
the eye outw^ard radiated
corded blue bundles of nerve-
cells that formed a w^eb run-
ning through the creature’s
legless body.
Gendron and the other two
men from the Vangvxtrd were
standing as if frozen, staring
down at the Khethlani. Carter
grasped the railing that en-
circled the thing’s pit, and
held on firmly. Beating waves
of thought emanated from the
Khethlani.
I control you, Earthmen.
I am your master.
The thoughts washed up
over Cai'ter’s brain with al-
most unbearable urgency. I
am your master. You will
obey me to the fullest.
Carter glanced at the three
men with him. Their eyes
62
FANTASTIC
were glassy ; they were
caught in an unbreakable
hypnotic current.
“You . . . are . . . my . . .
master,” Gendron said slowly.
The other two repeated the
phrase, parrot-like.
Carter stared down at the
horror in the pit. Again the
wave of thought rolled up.
/ am your master, strange
one.
The force of the thing’s
mind overwhelmed him ; he
rocked dizzily, but kept his
balance. New, he knew what
had happened, why Gendron
had behaved as he did.
The Vanguard had landed
on unexplored Deneb IV, and
the minds of its crew of
twelve had been snared by the
Khethlani. It had turned them
into so many puppets.
They had set a trap for
him. Evidently the Khethlani
was greedy for minds, for
some purpose of its own.
Somehow, Carter had avoided
the trap, had stayed free of
the thing’s control. Even now,
at close range, he was able
to resist the powerful hyp-
notic command.
I am your master, came the
statement a fourth time. I
order you to kneel.
Carter saw Gendron and
the other two looking at him.
Sweat burst out and ran down
his face as he fought off the
THE MYSTERY OF DENEB IV
Khethlani’s mental command.
“He resists,” Gendron said,
surprised. “He resists the
Khethlani.”
I order you to kneel. Kneel
or he destroyed.
Gendron began to draw
forth his blaster. Carter
grasped the rail more tightly,
shuddering.
There was only one thing
to do. Keeping his mind shut
tight against the creature’s
command, he knelt slowly and
bowed his head.
“You . . . are . . . my . . .
master,” Carter said, in slow,
solemn tones. “I . . . will . . .
obey . . . you.”
“The Khethlani has won!”
Gendron exclaimed. “He’s
under control!”
Rise, Earthman.
Carter rose obediently and
faced the creature in the pit.
I am now your master. You
will obey everything.
“You are my master now.
I will obey everything.”
When they were in the cor-
ridor again, Gendron yanked
the switch and the heavy
metal door clanged down,
shutting them off from the
chamber of the Khethlani.
The Squadron Leader turned
to Carter, grinning.
“Well, now you’re with us.
How does it feel?”
“Like being with the team
63
again,” Carter lied. “Brief
me on what’s been going on
here.”
“There are about a dozen
Khethlani, on various worlds
in this sector. One to a world.
They’ve been that way for
millions of years — it’s an an-
cient and very wise race.”
“And W'here do we fit in?”
“We’re busy building a
thought-generator,” explained
Gendron. “The Khethlani
wants to set up a linkage with
its brothers, and it needs our
help.”
“I get it. It’s a sort of
thought-amplifier.”
“Right. The Khethlani
shows us how to build it — but
he can’t do it himself. We’re
like his arms and legs. He
works through us. It’s a tre-
mendous job.”
“How far have you got-
ten?”
“Just the framework,”
Gendron said. “That’s why
we’re sending out that wide-
beam SOS. We need all the
extra hands we can get.
You’re the third one so far.”
“Neat. Only it almost didn’t
work on me.”
“I still don’t understand
that. You resisted incredibly
Well. But you couldn’t stand
up to the Khethlani face-to-
face.”
“No,” Carter said. “Of
course not.”
64
“Here we are,” said Gen-
dron. “This is what we’ve
done on the thought-genera-
tor so far.”
He opened another door,
and Carter saw a large room
almost completely filled with
a complex webwork of ma-
chinery. Half a dozen Earth-
men were working busily in
the far corner, soldering deli-
cate wires together and as-
sembling an array of transis-
tors.
“It’s a long, slow, tough
job,” said Gendron. “The
Khethlani’s guiding us every
step of the way.”
“And when it’s finish-
ed—?”
“Then the twelve Khethlani
will be in contact with each
other. Then they’ll blend their
mental powers into one super-
being that will control the
universe.”
Carter barely repressed a
shudder. “How wonderful!”
he forced himself to say.
“Yes. Wonderful.” Gendron
slapped him on the back. “I’m
sorry we had to rough you
up. Carter, but we had to get
you under control.”
“I understand. When are
you going to show me what
I can do here?”
Gendron looked at him pe-
culiarly for a moment, and
Carter realized he had blun-
FANTASTIC
dered. Supposedly all orders
would be coming direct from
the Khethlani.
“We won’t have to show
you,” Gendron said. “You’ll
know when you’re supposed
to \\’oi-k.”
“Yes, of course,” Carter
said. “I see that. And I think
my time is coming now.”
“Good. We’re happy to have
you with us.”
Gendron walked away, and
Carter moved stiffly toward
one corner of the room and
pretended to busy himself
with the tangle of equipment
he found there. Whatever this
thing the Khethlani was de-
signing was, it was a miracle
of engineering. He watched
the others in the room w^ork-
ing busily, their minds and
fingers guided by the prompt-
ings of the thing in the pit.
It was only a matter of
time before the Khethlani
found out that Carter wasn’t
really under control — if it
didn’t know already. As soon
as the Khethlani was certain,
it would communicate that to
Gendron and his men, and
this time they wouldn’t be
merciful.
He was immune to the
creature’s control. That was
apparent.
Why? There was only one
answer — the titanium plate
in his head.
His skull had been crushed
like paper in the reactor ex-
plosion, but the medics on
Rigel IV had painstakingly
patched him together again
with a cranium fashioned
mostly from thin metal. Fi’om
the outside, it was indistin-
guishable from the original —
but the metal apparently
served as a shield against the
telepathic commands of the
Khethlani. It was a logical
explanation.
Then he had little time to
waste. Soon, the Khethlani
would discover his bluff.
Carter would have to make
his move long before then.
The thin titanium plate in his
skull was all that stood be-
tween the Khethlani and its
dream of galactic conquest.
He had to bank on it.
Gendron was outside, in the
clearing. Carter came up to
to him, “How are things
going. Lieutenant?”
“Just fine,” Carter said.
“I’ll have to leave you for a
few moments, though.”
“Oh? What for?”
“The Khethlani is sending
me back to my ship,” Carter
explained. “It thinks some of
the equipment I have aboard
can be built into the genera-
tor.”
“Very good,” Gendron said.
“That stuff can be important
THE MYSTERY OF DENEB IV
65
to US, all right. You want
someone to go with you?”
Another test, Lieutenant
Carter thought. “Of course
not ! The Khethlani is guiding
me!”
“Of course, Lieutenant.”
The trouble was that the
Khethlani was not guiding
him, and it took him several
hours to find his way back to
his ship. Eventually he found
it, climbed up the catwalk,
and entered.
Waves of thought beat at
him suddenly. He sensed
hatred, anger. The Khethlani
was aware ! His deception
was at its end.
At this distance, though,
the Khethlani’s commands
were just so much tinny jan-
gling in his mind. Methodical-
ly, Carter went about his
work, grimly adjusting the
automatic pilot of the ship,
computing an orbit.
It took fifteen minutes.
When he was finished, he
blasted off, and his small ship
rose high above the atmos-
phere of Deneb IV. He snap-
ped on his radio.
The detectors immediately
picked up the SOS broadcast.
Evidently the Khethlani kept
its lure out at all times. He
ignored it, and began to speak
into the mike.
“Gendron! Gendron! You
hear me?”
There was a crackling mo-
ment of silence, and then : “I
hear you. What are you doing.
Carter?”
“Never mind that now. I
want you to get all your men
out of that building and as
far from the clearing as pos- •
sible, right away. You get
that?”
“You’re a madman, Cai’ter.
The Khethlani will put a
stop to — ”
“It hasn’t stopped me yet.
I’m warning you — get out of
that building, or you’ll die
with your master.”
He snapped off the radio.
Gendron had had ample
warning, and Carter had oth-
er things to occupy his mind.
The little ship was reaching
the top of its climb now, and
soon it would be levelling out
and plunging back down to-
ward the surface of the plan-
et below.
The Khethlani’s thoughts
beat frantically at him.
Ground your ship! I am
your master! I am —
You’ll he nothing in five
minutes, Carter thought
fiercely. His ship was moving
downward now, back into
Deneb IV’s atmosphere.
It was decelerating rapidly.
At ten thousand miles. Carter
cut in the automatic pilot and
climbed into his ejection suit.
66
FANTASTIC
still the ship plunged down-
ward. Five thousand miles.
Two thousand.
At sixty thousand feet,
Carter pressed the emergency
ejection stud, and a giant
cybernetic hand shoved him
gently but firmly through thi
gaping hatch of his ship. He
was swept away, off to one
side, and drifted slowly the
long distance to the ground.
The bombardment of
thought from the Khethlani
became almost unbearable.
The alien creature knew now
that it was doomed.
“Go ahead,” Carter yelled
derisively. “Hypnotize my
spaceship ! Make it turn
around!”
He was still twenty thou-
sand feet from the ground
when a bright flare of energy
squirted forth as his ship
roared into the building that
housed the Khethlani.
There was just a smoking
pit in the ground when Carter
got there. Everything had
been totally destroyed by the
crash.
And for the first time since
his landing. Carter no longer
felt the itching in his mind.
The Khethlani was dead.
He turned and saw a man
approaching, dazed and
smoke-blackened. It was Gen-
dron.
THE MYSTERY OF DENEB IV
“Who are you?” Gendron
asked uncertainly. “Where
are my men? My ship?”
“You’re the only one left.
Commander. The others
didn’t get away in time.”
Quicldy, Cai'ter explained
to the dazad officer, who had
no recollection of anything
that ha4 happened to him
since ejjt^ing the Khethlani’s
sphere of power.
“'fiat’s — that’s unbelieva-
ble,'^ Gendron said.
“It’s all over now.” Carter
glanced upward. Something
bright was circling the planet
in a landing orbit.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a spaceship,” Carter
said. “Drawn in by your de-
coy SOS signal — only now it’s
the real thing.”
“Will he see us?”
“He’ll see the smoke,” Car-
ter said. “He’ll rescue us.”
There’d be some delay
now, he realized, before he
got to Ophiuchus VII for
that vacation.
In fact, he might never get
there, he knew now. He had
a big job ahead of him — and
he was the only man in the
universe qualified to do it,
him and his tin skull.
He glanced upward. The
job was waiting. There were
eleven more Khethlani out
there to be rooted out and
destroyed. the end
67
The announcement went out and gorgeous girls responded
from all over the nation. But after being put through
a routine that would have exhausted a water buffalo,
they asked each other, in amazement: This is a
BEAUTY CONTEST?
By HENRY SLESAR
T he girl in the yellow bath-
ing suit plucked out her
hairpins in exasperation and
flung them on the vanity
table. The redhead seated be-
side her looked over under-
standingly.
“I know how you feel,
honey,” she said. “I had an
electro-perm last week, and
just look at me. You think
they’d have a feiv facilities
around this dump.” She sur-
veyed the room disconsolate-
ly. It was small and jerry-
built, with only two tables
and two mirrors meant to be
shared by six girls. It was a
duplicate of all the thirty
cabins, strung out like a ser-
pentine railroad train on the
edge of the Omaha Spaceport.
“I hate myself when I look
like this,” the girl in the bath-
ing suit moaned. She looked
in the mirror critically. The
face that looked back was ac-
tually very pretty, with its
wide-set eyes and clear,
smooth planes. Her figure
was equally attractive ; it had
to be, to qualify for the finals
of the Miss Outer Space con-
test.
“We all feel the same way,”
the redhead said sympatheti-
cally. “Oh, they’re trying to
be nice though. Captain Les-
ter — you know him, the cute
one with the freckles — he was
really sweet. But these space
jockeys just don’t understand
women, I guess.” She sighed,
but then smiled reminiscently
as she recalled the captain’s
embarrassment upon showing
the girls their quarters.
“Well, I’m sorry I ever
came,” said the other girl,
tugging at her blonde curls
68
The gal who won this one had to be more than beautiful.
69
with a comb. Her eyes
blurred with tears.
“Hey, Cleveland!”
Another blonde, wearing
an electric-blue sweater, scur-
ried over to the unhappy girl.
Her face was lit with excite-
ment, and her high heels
clicked enthusiastically. “Can
I borrow your Chanel?” she
said.
“What for?” said the red-
head sourly. “Got a date?”
“Maybe,” said blue-sweater
mysteriously.
“Janie!” The girl in the
bathing suit caught her eyes
in the mirror. “You can’t do
that,” she said in a shocked
voice. “It’s against the rules!”
“Rules,” Janie answered
lightly, “are made to be
broken.” She sprayed the per-
fume on lavishly. “Besides,
it’s just for a walk. Some nice
second-looie’s going to show
me around the spaceport.”
“But they’ll disqualify you
if they find out,” said the first
blonde. “Is it worth it?”
“Oh, Cleveland!” She pat-
ted the girl on her bare shoul-
der. “I’m bored to death. I’ve
spent a whole month with
nothing but female company.
I need a change !”
“Think we don’t feel the
same way?” said the redhead
angrily. “You knew the way
it would be when you entered
the contest — ”
“Your green eyes are show-
ing, dear,” said the blonde,
helping herself to some of
Cleveland’s lipstick.
“Green eyes, my elbow !”
the redhead exploded. “I
could get fifty of these space
jockeys to squire me around.
You think it’s so hard? But I
had to come a thousand miles
for these lousy finals, and I’m
not stupid enough to risk
everything for a guided tour
with some shavetail — ”
“Don’t protest so much!”
the blonde jeered.
The redhead shrieked,
dropped her brush, and start-
ed for the blonde. Luckily,
Maria, a hefty brunette with
a voluptuous figure, stepped
between them.
“Cut it out!” she pleaded.
“It’ll be lights out in a little
while. Fight it out in the day-
time.”
“I don’t want any trouble,”
the blonde said petulantly. “I
just want a little fun.”
“All right,” said the red-
head. “Let’s forget it. I guess
we’re all just tired.” She
seated herself again and
stroked her hair lazily with
the brush. “And we’ve got
quite a day tomorrow.”
“You said it,” agreed the
girl called Cleveland. She
picked up a mimeographed
sheet from the table and read
70
FANTASTIC
from it aloud. “Eight-thirty,
breakfast and initial briefing
by Captain Johannson. Ten
o’clock, basic questionnaire.
Eleven o’clock, physical ex-
amination. Twelve o’clock,
lunch. Two o’clock, domestic
science test. Four o’clock,
photography.” She looked up
at the others pathetically.
“Isn’t that awful?”
“Sounds okay to me,” said
the blonde, putting the final
touches on her outfit by
stringing gold bracelets up
and down her arm. “Except
that domestic science busi-
ness. I burn water.”
“Then you might as well go
home,” said the redhead sar-
donically. “You’ve got to be a
Betty Crocker to win this
clambake. Along with every-
thing else.”
“It’s the stiffest beauty
contest I ever saw,” said the
hefty brunette wistfully.
“Honestly, I’ve won a couple
back home, and all I had to
do was — well, you know —
kind of parade around a
little.”
“Well, this is an important
contest,” said the blonde. “I
mean,” she added hastily, on
seeing the hurt look cross
Maria’s face, “this is a hig
contest. You know what you
get if you’re Miss Outer
Space?”
“We know the prizes by
heart, honey,” said the red-
head. “Why else do you think
we’re here ?”
“It’s rough, though,” Cleve-
land admitted, turning the
paper over and reading the
agenda marked SECOND
DAY. “Look what happens
Tuesday. Ten o’clock, endur-
ance test. What do you sup-
pose they mean by that?”
“I don’t know,” the red-
head shrugged. “But it sure
doesn’t sound so good.”
“And listen to this one.
Three o’clock, outer space
question period. What about
that?”
“But I don’t know any-
thing about outer space,” the
big brunette complained. “It
just isn’t fair!”
“Maybe it- won’t be so
bad,” Cleveland said com-
fortingly. “After all, the
judges must know that we’re
not astronomers er any-
thing — ”
“Seems like a heck of a lot
of fuss to me,” the redhead
said, shaking her head. “But
I got this far. And even if I
get bounced, at least I’ve met
a few nice guys — ”
“Lot of good that does,”
said the blonde, who had
started for the doorway of
the cabin. “Before you know
it, they’ll all be shipped out to
Mars, and you’ll never see
them again.”
BEAUTY CONTEST?
71
“Yeah?” said the redhead,
“Then how about your sec-
ond-looie?”
The blonde made a despair-
ing gesture. “Well, what can
a girl do?” She looked at
them imploringly, and then
went through the doorway.
“Lights out in fifteen min-
utes, girls,” said a man’s
voice over the loudspeaker in
the corner of the room.
“That’s Captain Lester,”
said the redhead. “Such a
doll,” She sighed deeply,
wound a bright green scarf
around her head, and got up
from the table. She patted
Cleveland’s hand. “Cheer up,
kid,” she said. “You’ll feel
better in the morning.”
The messboys in the space-
port dining room couldn’t
stop grinning as they wheel-
ed their trays between the
crowded tables. The room was
filled with an unfamiliar and
highly decorative array of at-
tractive young ladies, and the
musical din of their voices
was an unusual sound in the
rough masculine atmosphere.
Breakfast had been prepared
with extra care, and the girls
had responded with remark-
able appetites, calling for
more up and down the line. It
was only until their second
cups of coffee were poured
that Captain Johannson en-
tered the room, looking a
trifle uneasy, and rapped for
attention on a water-glass.
“Good morning, ladies,” he
said briskly, and flushed
w'hen they echoed him with
giggling “good mornings” of
their own. He rapped the
glass once more, and tried to
keep a straight face.
“I’d like to welcome you
again to the Omaha Space-
port,” he said. “We’re happy
that you’re here, and we’re
sorry if you have suffered
any inconveniences. As you
can imagine, we’re hardly
equipped to entertain almost
two hundred young ladies,
but we’re doing the best we
can under the circumstances.
We hope you’ll put up with us
for the three days of the con-
test, and you’ll find it all
worthwhile.”
“He’s cute!” said a voice in
the rear, and the room broke
with laughter. The captain
really crimsoned now, and he
looked sternly at the grinning
messboys.
“Harumph!” he said loud-
ly. “As I was saying, you’ll
only have to put up with us
for three days, so it won’t be
too bad. If you need any sort
of assistance, you need only
call my office — the extension
is thirty-three — and speak to
a member of my staff. They’ll
be glad to help you with any
72
FANTASTIC
problem which cannot be han-
dled by the Matrons. Mail
will be sent and received at
my office, and if you wish to
make any long-distance phone
calls, my staff can assist you
there, too. There are, of
course, doctors on the field,
in case any of you require
medical attention.”
“How about dates?” said
a voice from the rear. This
time, there was only a slight
titter in the audience.
“Fm sorry about that,” the
captain smiled. “And if you
think Vm sorry, you should
see the long faces on the field
personnel.” He basked in
their appreciative laugh. “Fm
sure you all understand the
reason for this restriction.
Interplanetary travel is a
civilian enterprise, of course,
but subject to the same code
as the armed forces. We’re
constantly under close scru-
tiny by the public — whether
we’re sending a new geologi-
cal expedition to the outer
planets, or staging a strict
publicity venture, such as the
Miss Outer Space contest.”
He cleax’ed his thi'oat. “So
you see,” he said carefully,
“we must keep the contest in
a rather — respectable atmos-
phere. Harumph!” The girls
tittered again.
“Now,” he continued with
a relieved sigh, “I’ll tell you
something about your agenda.
You’ve all received copies, but
some of the items may seem
more demanding than they
really are. As you know, we
are not going to select Miss
Outer Space on — shall we
say, merely obvious qualities.
This is not a beauty contest
in the strict sense of the
term. We want good-looking
girls, of course,” he said with
a slight twinkle, “and you all
fill that bill quite nicely. But
we are also searching for
other qualities which we be-
lieve Miss Outer Space should
have. Intelligence — no, I don’t
mean we’re looking for lady
Einsteins,” he said as a groan
rippled through his audience.
“I mean good common sense,”
he explained. “The ability to
meet situations. Domestic
know-how, too. The rudi-
ments of keeping a decent
home. Physical fitness. And
something else, that I really
can’t define in a word. Char-
acter, I suppose, is as good as
any.”
He looked around the sud-
denly quiet room. “All these
things will be explained to
you more fully. I just wanted
to let you know how grateful
we are to you all for sticking
by us as well as you have, and
we hope you’ll bear with us a
few days more until the final
BEAUTY CONTEST?
73
judging is made. There’ll be
rewards for every one of you,
I promise you that. No one
will leave the spaceport dis-
appointed, and one of you will
leave w’ith very rich rewards
indeed. Thank you,” he ended
abruptly, and left the room
quickly.
The redhead flung herself
on a cot and groaned.
‘'What a day 1” she said.
“It wasn’t so bad,” said
Cleveland, looking in the mir-
ror and feeling better about
the looks of her hair.
“Wasn’t that questionnaire
a beauty?” said the blonde
girl, this time wearing
a purple sweater. “ ‘Please
check your birth certificate
when giving age,’ ” she quot-
ed. “You know, I don’t think
they trust us.”
“That domestic science test
wasn’t too hard,” said the
brunette.
“At least I didn’t burn
everything,” said the red-
head. “But did you get a load
of that cooking equipment? I
swear, I haven’t seen junk
like that since I w'ent to an
antique auction in New Jer-
sey.”
“Well, I guess they just
don’t have modern facili-
ties — ”
“You can say that again I
Back home, we just put the
74
food in the gadget, press the
button, and whammo. This
stuff is practically primitive.”
“Say, did you see the face
on that Captain Lester when
he tasted that strawberry
cake of mine?”
“Gee, he’s cute. If I was
running this thing, I’d make
it a law that nice-looking guys
like him get Earthbound
jobs — ”
“That photography busi-
ness was something. I haven’t
been snapped so much since
that Shutterbug show in Chi-
cago — ”
“Hey, Janie, what happen-
ed to your second-looie ? I
didn’t see him around all day.
What’d you do to him last
night?”
“No, we couldn’t get inside
the hangar, but we saw
enough. Honest, that space-
ship is a dream. It’s so white,
I mean, just like that sheath
dress I packed — ”
“Say when do we get a
chance to wear some decent
clothes, for Pete’s sake? I’m
sick of these damn shorts and
halters — ”
“Settle down, dear. Wed-
nesday’s the big day — ”
“God, I’m tired! I don’t
know if I’ll ever survive that
endurance test tomorrow,
whatever that is — ”
“Lights out at nine tonight,
girls — ”
FANTASTIC
“I’d give fifty bucks for
some food right now. I’d even
eat something I made my-
self.”
“Who wants to be Miss
Outer Space anyway — ”
Second Lieutenant Hart-
wig set his shoulders square-
ly as he faced the ranks of
women.
“The exercises will be held
at the Spaceport Play Area,”
he said crisply. “That’s not
quite four miles from here.
The tests will last about two
hours, so if we make good
time we can be back here be-
fore three.”
“What about lunch?” asked
a small voice.
“We’ll get our lunch at the
Play Area. It won’t be any-
thing much, sandwiches most-
ly. As I say, we must be back
here at three, so you ladies
can take your outer-space
question period. That’s the
last phase of the contest, ex-
cept for Show Night tomor-
row, of course.”
“How do we get there?”
asked the redhead, in the
front rank.
“We walk,” the lieutenant
said grimly.
“Walk?” A chorus of dis-
approval came from the girls,
mixed with some resigned
groans.
“That’s right,” said the
lieutenant. “It’s not as far as
you think, and there’ll be field
wagons for those who are too
tired to walk back after the
tests. I needn’t tell you,” he
added, “that walking back
might count against your
score. But it’s your privilege.”
“Nice guy,” said the red-
head bitterly, out of the side
of her mouth. The blonde,
Janie, who had dated him on
their first night, looked hurt.
“He seemed nice,” she said.
“He was so sweet about
things — ”
“Let’s cut out the chatter,”
said the young officer. “Pre-
tend you’re in the Army now,
gii’ls. No talking in ranks,
and let’s have some semblance
of marching order.”
“My feet hurt already,”
said Maria
“This stinks,” said the red-
head tersely. “I knew I should
have quit yesterday — ”
“Not me,” said Cleveland.
“I got this far. They won’t
bully me out of it now!”
The field trucks drove
back just fourteen girls from
the Play Area. Lt. Hartwig
was surprised at the low
number, after his first hard-
eyed appraisal of the women.
But a hundred and sixty-six
of them had stuck it out, with
a perseverance that didn’t
quite fit his preconceived idea
BEAUTY CONTEST?
75
about the durability of young
women — particularly the kind
of young women who entered
beauty contests.
But they stuck. They walk-
ed the four-mile distance to
the test grounds with playful
good humor. They took the
hurdles of the obstacle course
with only minor accidents.
They joined in the water
trials with gleeful abandon.
And they even forgot their
aching feet when the whistle
blew for the running events.
The blonde that Hartwig
had dated proved a frost in
the first ten minutes of the
exercises. She balked at the
obstacle course, and pulled a
fit of weeping. Hartwig him-
self helped her off the
grounds, and tried to be iiice
about it. But she seemed to
want to blame him for every-
thing, and gave the young
officer a tongue-lashing that
brought a blush to his face.
She sat out the rest of the
field trials in a truck, waiting
to be driven home. But that
other blonde one, the pert one
with the curls and the stun-
ning figure, the one from
Cleveland ; now that was
something more to Hartwig’s
liking. And the way she had
taken the whole thing with
such dignity and good grace.
He’d have to talk with her on
the way back . . .
“Okay, girls!” he called to
them cheerfully, as they be-
gan the weaiy trudge back to
the spaceport. “I know you’re
all bushed, but if we put a
little pep into it, we can get
back at two-thirty or so. That
will give you some time to
freshen up before the outer-
space question period. You’ll
probably want to do some re-
pair work on the makeup.”
They made the march in
less than half an hour.
Captain Johannson kept
his eyes on the paper on his
desk, pencil poised, as the
pretty girl in the chair watch-
ed him anxiously.
“I’m going to ask you some
unusual questions,” he said.
“So don’t be surprised. You
might call this a sort of ‘psy-
chological test.’ ”
The girl called Cleveland
nodded.
“There won’t be any pat
answers, you understand. The
outer-space questions, as we
call them, demand more — in-
ventive answers, you might
say. So don’t be nervous.”
“All right,” Cleveland said,
none the less nervously.
“Here’s the first question,”
said the captain. “Let’s say
you’re in your own home, and
the water supply is suddenly
turned off. And you knew
that it wouldn’t work again
76
FANTASTIC
for forty-eight hours. What
would you do?”
The girl stared. “Why, Fm
not sure.” She thought a
while. “I suppose Fd see if
there were any water in the
frig.”
“Yes, of course,” said the
captain. “But what if you
didn’t have any refrigeration
equipment?”
“Well, Fd see if there were
fruit or vegetables around.
I’d get all the juice I could
find. Fd drink that.”
“How about bathing?”
“I just wouldn’t bathe. Not
if I didn’t want to be
thirsty.”
The captain smiled. “Now
how about this,” he said.
“Let’s say you’ve built your-
self a house. Quite a nice
house. Taken you a long time
to build it. Then the founda-
tion gives out for some reas-
on, and your whole house
collapses before your eyes.
What would you do?”
Cleveland blinked. “Cry, I
guess.”
“Then what?”
“What could I do? Build
another house, I suppose.”
“I see.” The captain leaned
over the desk and made a no-
tation on the paper before
him. Then he looked up and
said:
“Are you afraid of bats?”
“What?”
"Bats. You know, those
winged things.”
“I don’t know. I don’t
think I’ve ever really seen
one. Except in pictures, of
course.”
“Do you believe they get in
your hair?”
The girl touched her
blonde curls. “I don’t think
so. That’s one of those falla-
cies, isn’t it?”
“Do you know what a Mar-
tian bat looks like?”
“No.”
“Well, picture a fairly
ordinary bat. It’s something
like that, only its wing spread
often reaches four feet. It’s
a pretty ugly customer. Now,
let’s say you’re in your own
parlor one night, and this big
thing comes flapping into
your house. And — fallacy not-
withstanding — let’s say you
knoiv this bat will just as
soon land in your hair as any-
place else. Would you be
frightened?”
“Of course,” said the girl.
“What would you do?”
“Hit it with a broom,” she
said.
It was Show Night.
The trunks flew open, and
dazzling gowns of silk and
satin and nylon and orlon
and sprylon were brought
out, rustling beautifully. The
long row of cabins on the
BEAUTY CONTEST?
77
edge of the Omaha Spaceport
crackled with girlish excite-
ment as the entrants dressed
for the final judging. There
were shrieks and giggles,
screams and guffaws, cries of
delight and of misery as the
women struggled into their
prettiest dresses. The sounds
of their activity carried all
across the spaceport, jan-
gling the nerves — but not un-
pleasantly — of the personnel
in the barracks at the other
end of the field. It was Show
Night, after all, the final mo-
ment when Miss Outer Space
would be selected and crown-
ed, and even the most hard-
bitten veteran on the base
caught some of the fever.
The Omaha mess had been
converted into an auditorium
— it was the largest single
room on the field — and the
messboys had contributed to
the event with elaborate dec-
orations, makeshift affairs of
crepe and bunting and strag-
gly floral bouquets. The clat-
ter of folding chairs was
deafening as they were lined
up in uneven rows, in readi-
ness for the audience. A
heavy drape was strung
against one wall, and span-
gled letters were tacked
to it, spelling out: MISS
OUTER SPACE.
It was a nerve-tingling
moment, especially in the cab-
ins.
“My God, what’s that, a
coffee stain on my sleeve — ?”
“My lipstick ! Who’s got
my lipstick? That’s my spe-
cial shade — ”
“Ouch ! I must have gained
ten pounds since I wore this
dress — ”
“I’m just not med to high
heels any more — ”
“Poor Janie! If only she
could have stuck one more
day — ”
“Honestly, you could give
me two minutes at the mir-
ror I Just two lousy min-
utes — ”
“Just keep your eyes off
that Hartwig fellow, Cleve-
land. It looks just a little too
obvious — ”
“Maria, would you 'please
get your big — ”
“Say, did you ever hear
such a racket — ”
“Those are my slippers,
you dope! Can’t you recog-
nize the difference between a
canal boat and a — ”
“God, I’m so nervous I
could die — ”
“But honey, you look abso-
lutely ravishing! I wish I
could look half as good — ”
“Come on! Come on!
They’re calling us — ”
Captain Johannson step-
ped to the front of the stage.
“Ladies,” he said gravely,
78
FANTASTIC
“before I tell you the judges'
decision, I have a rather im-
portant announcement to
make.”
The audience murmured,
and then became still.
“When you first arrived at
the Omaha Spaceport, I told
you that none of you here
would leave without some
sort of reward. I meant that
sincerely, and you’ll find that
I was telling the truth. But
I have a different kind of
prize to offer you ladies now,
and I hope you’ll pay careful
attention as I describe it to
you.”
The audience stirred again.
“This has been a rather
curious affair for all con-
cerned,” the captain con-
tinued. “On the surface, the
Miss Outer Space contest
may have seemed like a
rather spectacular publicity
stunt. It is certainly that. But
we had another intention in
staging this competition — a
far more important inten-
tion, and one we have not re-
vealed until this moment.”
He looked directly at the
women.
“Did you look up at the
stars tonight?” he asked
them. “It’s a fine, clear night,
and if you did, you may have
seen the planet which is the
core of the work of the
Omaha Spaceport — the plan-
et Mars. There are people on
that planet now, people from
Earth. They’re all men —
young men. The finest- that
the planet Earth can boast.
“These young men are per-
forming some of the most
important duties ever assign-
ed to young men in the
world’s histoiy. They are
settling a new world for us
— a brand-new planet, rich
in mystery, danger, and un-
told wealth. They are living
hard lives, and often short
ones, to pioneer this new
frontier. One of these days —
perhaps many generations
from now — our world will
fall on its knees and thank
God for the duty and the
spirit which moved these
young men to undertake this
hazardous and lonely mis-
sion. Someday, an overcrowd-
ed and worn-out Earth will
sanctify them for building a
new home for the human'
race.
“You’ve seen some of these
young men on your visit to
this spaceport. They are typi-
cal of the men on Mars today
— vigorous, intelligent, com-
petent young men, well-versed
in the sciences and the hu-
manities. Take a good look
at them. It may be the last
time you will ever see them,
for when the orders arrive
BEAUTY CONTEST?
79
that will take them to Mars,
they shall not return again.
This is a lifetime assign-
ment.
“The men here tonight,
and the men on the winking
red planet above our heads
have taken no wives and
made promises to no sweet-
hearts. The only offer they
can make a woman is
hardship, privation, danger;
an unfamiliar world, and an
unknown future.
“You may understand why
they are lonely. And you
may now understand the un-
usual prize we offer you all.
“These young men have
gone through trials similar to
those you have undergone
here — but far more strenu-
ous and demanding. They
are the cream of Earth’s
young men. We believe you
are the cream of Earth’s
young women.
“So here is what we be-
lieve to be truly the grand
award in this contest, ladies.
A husband — a home — a new
world — an adventure such as
no women in history have
had the chance to share.
Think it over carefully. Let
us know your decision.
“And now,” he said, “the
judge’s decision.”
Cleveland won, and she
flung her arms about Lieu-
tenant Hartwig when the de-
cision was announced. She
took the trophy with her to
Mars. THE END
80
By 0. H. LESLIE
H OW I wish Faw-Faw
were here! What joy to
be a child again, and sit once
more in his strong wide lap,
and rest my fevered cheek
against the cool metal surface
of his chest, and let my sticky,
stumpy fingers play idly over
the buttons of his back, and
finally press down the one
that brought forth his sooth-
ing, smoothing, story-telling
voice :
“There was once a shoe-
maker who through no fault
of his own had become so
poor that at last he had only
leather enough for one pair
of shoes . .
Oh, Faw-Faw! What have
they done with you ?
Memory, memory. So sweet,
so painful. What was the
rhyme that Father taught
me? The rhyme that told me
how Faw-Faw worked?
“Information, registration,
consideration,
“MEMORY!
“Calculation, conversation,
robots made by
“EMORY!”
My father.
A big man. A brilliant man.
And I was an Emory, too, and
when I grew up, GREAT
THINGS were expected of
me. For didn’t I have Faw-
Faw? What child could hope
for a better tutor?
Information, registration,
consideration . . . MEMORY ;
81
Oh, Faw-Faw! How could
I have ever hated your cold,
cruel chest, your icy arms,
your frozen mechanical affec-
tion ! How could I have struck
your brain-housing with such
fury, beating the heavy ham-
mer in great gong! gong!
gongs! Yes, Father, I deserv-
ed your punishment. You
were right ; I was wrong.
Again, again! Only beat me
again! How could I feel such
gross ingratitude? Again!
My mother . . .
“He’s only a child!” Shriek-
ing at him. “He’s only seven!”
How soon his red anger
died! Remorse, regret, eyes
staring in bewilderment at
the thick brown strap in his
hand.
“He could have destroyed
him,” he said, in a voice I
didn’t know. “He could have
smashed the work of a life-
time. Forty-four experiments
— twelve years — and he could
have — ”
Oh, Father, how I wronged
you! Again, again!
But how soon I learned.
Cold steel or warm flesh —
how little the difference real-
ly mattered ! My mother’s
sleepytime kiss, once so sweet
and comforting; my father’s
gruff hair-rumpling ; how
trivial these childhood pleas-
ures seemed after the lessons
of Faw-Faw, the strength of
Faw-Faw, the quick thrilling
response of Faw-Faw to every
childish command.
Oh, Faw-Faw! How well I
learned your ways!
Information, registration,
consideration . . . MEMORY :
“A whole year?” I said.
“Maybe a little less,” said
my mother.
“It’s a very important as-
signment,” said my father.
“A great honor,” said my
mother, stroking my hair. As
if to comfort me.
“It’s a government project,
and very secret. Can you un-
derstand that? Your mother
and I will be living in very
cramped quarters, and lead-
ing greatly restricted lives.
There won’t be any play-
grounds, or children your own
age, or anything.”
“And besides,” said my
mother (was that a tear on
her face?) “you’ll have Aunt
Hulda, and Faw-Faw of
course.”
“You’ll be all right,” said
my father, as if he really
knew.
Was I happy? Was I sad?
Faw-Faw, do you remember?
What did I say to you that
night, in the aloneness of my
room? Did I cry?
On the lap. Head against
the chest. Press the button.
Drowsy listening ; soothing.
82
FANTASTIC
smoothing, story -telling
voice ...
“Now the Queen, having
eaten Snow- White’s heart, as
she supposed, felt quite sure
that now she was the first and
fairest, and so she came to
her mirror and said . . .”
Information, registration,
consideration . . . MEMORY :
“Say that again!”
“You heard me!”
“I dare you to say it
again !”
“You’re an orphan! I heard
my mother say so. You ain’t
got no father!”
“You’re a liar!”
“Who’s a liar? Who’s a
liar? I’ll show you who’s a
liar!”
A scuffle in the sand. A
hard ball of fingers on my
nose. Blood on my shirt. Yell-
ing, screaming, crying: “I’m
not an orphan ! I’m not !”
“I’ll learn you who’s a
(puff) liar! I’ll show you
(puff) little (puff) snotnose
stupid orphan !”
Hot tears, shameless.
Screaming, sci'eaming.
“Faw-Faw! Faw-Faw!”
Pounding on my ribs.
Then —
“Holy Christmas! Holy — ”
Revenge, Faw-Faw, re-
venge!
“Ma! Ma!”
Hold him, Faw-Faw ! Punch
him, Faw-Faw! Bloody nose,
Faw-Faw ! Bloodier than
mine ! Revenge ! Revenge !
Faw-Faw, revenge! Informa-
tion, registration, considera-
tion . . . MEMORY :
“Oh, he’s been a good boy,
Mr. Emory,” said Aunt.
Hulda.
“But he broke the nose of
the Brown boy,” she added.
“He did what?” said my
father.
Would the thick brown
strap, the sudden red anger,
appear again? I cringed. But
Father laughed.
“Well, well, well!” He
laughed again, and squeezed
my upper arm. I had pleased
him! (Oh, Faw-Faw, I love
you best, but that moment
was sweet, sweet!) “He’s a
real Emory,” my father said.
“A real Emory ! But don’t tell
his mother, Hulda. She
wouldn’t understand.”
“It was Faw-Faw,” I said.
The honesty of childhood!
“Of course it was.” My
father smiled with pleasure
at my robot. “He’s a better
teacher than I imagined. Now
I don’t feel so bad about leav-
ing again.”
My mother came in.
“Leaving again?” I said to
her. Was I sad, Faw-Faw?
Did I cry?
“The experiments aren’t
83
MY ROBOT
completed,” my mother an-
swered. “Your father and I
will have to stay at least an-
other six months.”
Father said: “But it’s
worth it, son. There may be a
whole army of Faw-Faws
some day !”
“A whole army . . .” My
mother looked frightened.
“It's dreadful, Richard, dread-
ful . . .”
“Laura — ”
“Metal soldiers. Robot kil-
lers — ”
My father looked displeas-
ed. “This is no time for that
kind of talk. You knew full
well what my assignment was
about. I’m not ashamed of it.”
He looked at me sternly. “And
don’t you be either. Some day
you may be carrying on my
work. Do you know that?”
My mother’s face went
white.
“My robots will do all the
world’s work,” my father
said. “Not just the fighting.
But they know a lot about
that, too.” He turned his eyes
on me again, significantly,
and he smiled.
In the middle of that night,
awakening suddenly, hearing
an unexpected sound. My
mother, sobbing, sobbing. My
father, whispering, harshly,
so close to red anger:
“Oh, shut up, Laura! For
heaven’s sake, SHUT UP!”
84
Oh, Faw-Faw, quick! Tell
me a story! •
The wide lap, the cool chest,
the soothing voice:
“Once upon a time there
lived a king and a queen, very
peacefully together . . .”
Information, registration,
consideration . . . MEMORY :
Only a rhyme but . . .
“Sick, sick! With what?
Tell me that. With what?”
My mother, drawn and
pale. The plump hand that
could touch so gently now
thin and bony, clutching the
sheet.
Softly: “I don’t know,
Richard . . .”
“The doctors should know,
Laura. The hospital should
know. Do you doubt what they
said?”
“No. I don’t doubt them.”
Faw-Faw, why was I so
frightened?
“They’ve seen cases like
yours before, those Army doc-
- tors. They have an ugly word
for it in the Army, Laura.”
“Richard, I’m sorry . . .”
Anger, red anger. Would
he take the thick brown strap
to her 7 Oh, never, Faw-Faw,
never !
“Two years of work! Two
years — and now that pip-
squeak Morgan is ‘filling in’
for me! It’s just not fair,
don’t you see that? And all
FANTASTIC
because you think you’re
sick.”
“Richard . .
“Never mind, never mind.
I’ve stood by your bedside
long enough. Hulda can take
care of you; you don’t need
me. You’ll have what you
want. You’ll be home to
smother that boy with sticky
love. You’ll be happy. But I
must get back to work!”
Why did I cry, Faw-Faw?
What frightened me so?
“Richard, please — ”
“What is it?”
“Don’t go back!”
“What?”
“Don’t go back there. Don’t
help them make those mon-
sters !”
My mother, up on her feet,
following him to the door. She
looked so small ! Why, my
mother was small !
“Don’t be a fool, Laura.”
“It’s a sin to make them!
them! A mortal sin — ”
“Getting awfully religious
aren’t you ? This isn’t like
you, Laura.”
Clutching at him, tugging,
pulling.
“Richard, don’t go!”
“You’re hysterical. Let go
of me and get back to bed.
That’s the only place you feel
important, isn’t it?”
“I won’t let you go. I
won’t!”
Tugging, pulling. Oh, Faw-
Faw, why did I have to
watch ?
“Stop it, Laura !”
Shrieking, crying !
“Richard, Richard!”
Oh, Faw-Faw ! Did it really
happen? The upraised arm,
that hard flat palm ? The
sharp, cracking noise? The
moan or shock and pain? Oh,
Faw-Faw! Did it really hap-
pen?
Revenge, F aw-F aw !
What have they done with
him? Dismantled him, fused
him, melted him, battered
him, crushed him? Has his
metal become bullets, gunbar-
rels, bombshells? Or were the
bars on the window of my
room once his strong cool
chest, his sturdy legs, his
comforting arms?
Oh, Faw-Faw, my robot.
How I wish you were here !
THE END
BIG NEWS!
FANTASTIC IS
Going Monthly!
85
The thud of flesh and bone felt good against his fists.
86
An
Enemy
of
Peace
By RALPH BURKE
C ENTER CITY belonged to
Lloyd Riddell, and Lloyd
Riddell belonged to the city.
He had held it together al-
most single-handed while the
white blaze of atomics laid
waste the horizon ; he had
turned panic into determina-
tion, defeat into dogged re-
fusal to lie down. He had
fought for the city. He had
killed for it.
And now the city was
threatened again.
“When does Northburg in-
tend to attack us?”
“I — I don’t know,’’ Len
Colter said. “It all depends on
what’s going on in David
Barr’s mind. I lit out for Cen-
ter City as soon as I heard
him making the speech, there
in that rubbleheap. The min-
ute I heard him yelling, ‘We
must wipe out Center City/
When enemies of peace threaten
the System, they must be elim-
inated. There are many ways to
do this. And if all else fails, you
can always go to war with them.
I knew I had to come back
here and let you know.”
Riddell scowled. “I suppose
you did the best thing. But
you should have waited. You
should have found out when
they plan to attack.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I — "
“Forget it,” Riddell said
sharply. “Get going. Get back
to Northburg, scout around,
find out whatever you can
about this invasion. And send
Ken Naylor in when you
leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
The youthful spy turned
and left. Riddell stared at the
boy’s back as he passed
through the door, then stud-
ied the gold letters on the
glass door that said “Mayor
of Center City” in reverse.
He had come to Center City
twenty years ago, a frighten-
87
ed, lonely ten-year-old orphan
with no place to stay. That
had been before the Madness.
Center City had taken him in,
given him a home, foster par-
ents, all the things denied him
so long. Riddell had grown to
manhood in the pleasant Ohio
town. And when the bombs
came, blasting America and
changing it from the might-
iest country on Earth to a
coast-to-coast chain of small
towns separated by dreary
ruins, Riddell had repaid the
town that had once found
room for him. Alone, through
the smoke-filled night, he had
marched through the blasted
town, collecting survivors,
comforting the people. That
night, he had kept Center
City alive.
For what? Riddell asked
himself bitterly. Did I save
this town and rebuild it brick
by brick only to have some
power-crazed fanatics in the
next town destroy it again?
He clenched his powerful
fists. “I won’t let it happen,”
he said. “Not while I’m alive.
I’ll stop Barr some way.”
The office door opened, and
Ken Naylor entered. Naylor
was a big man, almost as tall
— though not as broad — as
Riddell himself. Riddell had
met him for the first time the
night of the bombing, and
three years later they were
still operating as a team.
“I’ve heard this thing about
Northburg,” Naylor said
without preamble. “What’s
gotten into them? Are they
crazy, trying to conquer
America city by city?”
Riddell shrugged. “Who
knows ? Maybe they think
they’re going to start a new
Roman Empire here in Amer-
ica.”
“Do you think we can stop
them? We’re not too heavy on
guns.”
“We’re not going to go to
war, Ken. We’re not going to
fire a shot.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen enough war, and
I’ve killed enough men. We’ll
handle this the sane way. The
way I’m trying to teach our
youngsters to live.”
Naylor stared blankly at
him. “But—”
The phone rang. Riddell
picked it up — listened — then
said, “We’ll have a man right
over, Charlie.” He hung up.
“Who was that?”
“Charlie Drew. On the
farm about a mile out of town
on the road to Northburg. I
sent a couple of boys into
Northburg last night, just to
feel around and see how
things looked. One of the boys
w'as Len Colter, the one you
just saw. The other was Ben
83
FANTASTIC
Kingston. Couple of minutes
ago, Kingston’s body got
dumped on Charlie Drew’s
farm. There was a note
pinned to it. ^We don’t like
spies.’
Naylor’s face tightened.
“And you say we won’t
fight?’’
“There’ll be no war. Get
out to Drew’s fann and pick
up the body. Here — here’s a
permit to use my car.’’ He
scribbled a note that would
allow Naylor to consume some
precious gasoline. “When
that’s taken care of, move
into my office and act as
Mayor until I get back — if I
get back.”
“Where are you going?”
Naylor asked.
“I’ve got to catch Len Col-
ter before he reaches North-
burg.”
“But I thought . . .”
“I’ll do the thinking, Rid-
dell said. “You do what you’re
told.”
Ten minutes later, Riddell
overtook Len Colter, halfway
to Northburg. “Go home,”
Riddell said. “I’m taking you
off the job. It’s too risky.”
Disappointment showed in
the boy’s eyes. “But I got back
safe the first time, sir!”
“I’m giving you an order !”
Riddell snapped. “Ben Kings-
ton was just found dead. I
don’t want you to go the same
way.”
“But—”
Riddell gestured with an
upraised arm. “Don’t stand
here arguing with me, Len.
Go on home!”
The boy turned away, mov-
ed slowly back toward town.
Riddell watched him for a
moment, then walked rapidly
toward Northburg and the
challenge there.
The road was still in good
shape, despite pitted craters
here and there, despite an oc-
casional slagheap where a
stray blast of atomfire had
seared the hillside and sent
molten rock spilling down on
the highway. Grass was push-
ing up in the slagheaps, the
blasted trees were being re-
placed by timid saplings, the
farms along the way were
starting to look like farms
again. America was return-
ing to life.
Tivo hours of war, Riddell
thought for the thousandth
time. Jiist two hours of guid-
ed ICBMs overhead and a
world is destroyed. But we’re
coining back, now.
A feeling of hatred welled
up in him. Hatred for David
Barr, the madman who had
inflamed the neighboring
town of Northburg with
dreams of conquest. Who now
threatened to bring war back
AN ENEMY OF PEACE
89
into a world ah’eady ruined
by war.
Yet Riddell realized dis-
mally that hatred was not the
solution. The world was too
battered for more hatred. He
had vowed there would be no
more fighting — but how else
could you cope with a man
who would enslave you?
There had to be another
way to meet the forces of evil
without descending to evil
yourself.
As he walked through the
quiet countryside, Riddell was
plagued by the idea that had
touched off the nightmare of
1973: Get them before they
can get you.
It wasn’t the answer he
wanted.
Northburg was a rambling,
sprawling town that had once
been populated by fifty thous-
and people. Even after the
bombings and the subsequent
lootings, twelve thousand had
survived.
Reports had filtered in to
Riddell about the Northburg
people, and he hadn’t liked
what he heard. This fellow
Barr, for example — a wiry
farmer who had pushed his
way to the top, had taken
charge of Northburg the way
Riddell had Center City and
the way strong men all over
the country had probably tak-
en over whatever town they
were in. It was the only way
to survive.
Only Barr wasn’t like the
others. Whereas Riddell want-
ed peace, prayers and pros-
perity for all the population
of Center City, Barr was
hungry for his own power
and supremacy. After a life-
time of farming, suddenly he
had control of a miniature
kingdom, and he wanted
more.
From the outskirts of the
town, Northburg looked much
like Center City or any other
small town.
But a striking difference
became evident as Riddell
drew closer.
There was a wall around
Northburg.
It rose some ten feet high,
made out of row on row of
gray bricks, and it seemed to
encircle the entire city, turn-
ing it into an almost medi-
eval-looking fortress.
“You going somewhere,
friend?” a deep voice asked
him suddenly.
Riddell turned and saw a
man in a blue uniform ap-
proaching him, hand on hol-
ster. “I’m — I’m just out for
a walk, sir,” Riddell said, as
timidly as he could.
“Outside the walls?
Where’s your permit?”
“Just a minute, sir,” Rid-
90
FANTASTIC
dell said obsequiously. He
fumbled beneath his cloak,
drew forth his wallet. “Here
you are.”
The guard peered close as
Riddell flipped through his
wallet, ostensibly looking for
the permit. “Hurry it up,”
the guard said. “You ought to
know better than to go out-
side the walls.”
“Dreadfully sorry, sir. Oh,
there it is.”
He sent a slip of paper flut-
tering to the ground. Involun-
tarily, the guard turned to see
what it was. “Hey, that’s no
perm — ”
Sorry, Riddell thought. He
ripped upward with a crash-
ing right, followed with a left
pounded into the guard’s
stomach. The man staggered
backward. Riddell grabbed
him by the collar, hit him
twice across the face, and he
folded.
Riddell let the unconscious
man sag to the ground. Then
he looked around.
No ®ne had seen the en-
counter. The quiet farm-
houses remained quiet, the
cows in the fleld ignored the
incident, and the cloudless
skies did not seem to care.
Hastily, Riddell dragged
the guard off the road into a
thick clump of underbrush
and stripped the man’s uni-
form off. It was a tight fit.
but he managed to squeeze
into it. He tore his own cloak
into strips, tied it around the
guard’s arms and legs, and
adjusted his clothing.
Then he drew out the
guard’s wallet and examined
it. He was now' Corporal Ed-
mund Calder of the Army of
Northburg.
The new' corporal Calder
straightened up, cast a back-
w'ard glance at the uncon-
scious man in the shrubbery,
and started walking tow'ards
the walls of the city of North-
burg.
There was a gate in the
w'all about a hundred yards
further along the curve. Rid-
dell walked quickly, carrying
himself erect in proper mili-
tary fashion, and reached the
gate.
He passed through, head
dow'ii. "The man on duty didn’t
seem to notice that anything
was wrong. But as Riddell
started to enter the city, the
guard said, “Just a minute,
Corporal.”
Riddell w'hirled, then got
control of himself. “Yes?”
“I forgot to ask you some-
thing,” the soldier said. He
was a private. He was staring
full into Riddell’s face, and
if he knew that the corporal
was an impostor he wasn’t re-
vealing anything. “The Major
AN ENEMY OF PEACE
91
wants to know if any prowl-
ers were around while you
were on duty.”
“No,” Riddell said uneasi-
ly. “No, there wasn’t any
trouble at all. What’s up?”
“Trouble from Center
City,” the guard said. “Seems
a couple of kids got through
our lines last night and slip-
ped into the city. We caught
one, but the other’s still
around somewhere. Funny
you hadn’t heard about it.”
“I’ve — I’ve been on leave,”
Riddell improvised. “Just
came back on duty a couple
of hours ago, and I guess they
didn’t fill me in.” Without
waiting for any further dis-
cussion, he turned and moved
onward.
Northburg looked peaceful
enough, he thought. They had
rebuilt pretty well, though
the telephone lines still seem-
ed to be down, at least in this
part of town, and hardly any
of the rubble-heaps had been
cleared.
The townsfolk Avere going
about their business. It might
well have been Center City —
except for the men in blue
uniforms patrolling the
streets, and the beaten, har-
ried look on the faces of the
people. There was hope on
people’s faces there in Center
City. In Northburg, Riddell
saw fear.
He had to get information.
He didn’t know how he was
going to handle this, where to
begin, what he was going to
do — but he knew he would
have to eradicate this cancer
spot from Ohio for the sake
of re-awakening America, and
he knew he would succeed.
He started down a large
thoroughfare that looked as
if it might once have been the
main shopping center of
Northburg. No cars moved
down it now — not with gas-
oline rationed out for top-
level priority only — and there
was the occasional clippety-
clop of a pony-cart drawing
produce to market somewhere
on the other side of town.
After about fifty feet, he
came to a bar, and smiled.
Bars were the best places to
get information. He went in.
“Morning, Corporal,” the
barkeep said as he entered. It
was small, cozy, with some
tables in the back and a well-
polished bar along the wall.
“What’ll you have?”
“Beer,” Riddell said. He ac-
cepted the drink and looked
around the bar. There W’as a
little group of men in uni-
forms sitting at one of the far
tables, and quickly he turned
his back so they would not see
him. To his left, a couple of
middle-aged farmers nursed
92
FANTASTIC
their drinks and seemed to be
glaring bitterly at him.
He studied them. They
don’t like the soldiers, he
thought. It was indicative of
the sort of feelings in the
town.
He listened carefully, try-
ing to pick up some threads
of their conversation.
“. . . this crazy war,” one of
them was saying. “What does
Barr want to go conquer the
world for?”
“Quiet,” said the other.
“This place is full of his sol-
diers. You want to spend the
rest of harvest season in
jail?”
The first farmer had evi-
dently had a couple too many.
He raised his voice. “I don’t
care if they do hear or not,”
he said thickly. “This is
America, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
“It used to be. Shut up,
Clyde. We’ll get in trouble.”
Riddell felt his pulse quick-
en. Here’s my opening, he
thought.
Downing his beer, he drop-
ped a coin on the bar and
turned to confront the two
farmers. His hand slipped to
his holster.
“Hey there, you two !”
“You mean us?” the meek-
er of the two farmers said.
“We didn’t do anything!”
“It isn’t what you did,”
Riddell said loudly. He flicked
an eye at the bartender and
saw the man staring white-
faced at him, livid with ha-
tred. “It’s what you said.” He
gestured with his bolstered
gun. “Suppose you two come
along for questioning, may-
be.”
One of the soldiers from
the back table detached him-
self and came to the front of
the bar. “Any trouble. Cor-
poral ?”
Riddell looked at his uni-
form, saw that the other was
a sergeant, and shook his
head. “I can handle it. Ser-
geant. Thanks anyway. Come
on, you two.”
He marched the farmers
out into the street, which was
still blessedly empty, and in-
dicated that they should go to
the end of the block and turn
in at the side street. They did
so and waited there, faces
white, teeth chattering in
terror.
“Okay,” Riddell said.
“Would you cai’e to repeat to
me what you said about the
government of Northburg?”
“We didn’t say anything.”
“Yes we did,” said the out-
spoken one. “They’re going to
put us away anyway, so we
might as well speak up.” He
stared defiantly at Riddell.
We don’t like you, and we
don’t like Barr. And we don’t
AN ENEMY OF PEACE
93
want war. It’s — it’s madness.
Why can’t we rebuild the
country the way it used to
be? Why—”
“That’ll be enough,” Rid-
dell said. “You’re speaking
treason, you know. Such
words can condemn you.”
The two men began to
quiver. Riddell looked with
pity on the one who hadn’t
spoken, the one who had des-
perately tried to silence his
friend before it was too late.
A scowl came to his face.
Barr was ruling with an iron
hand here, but there was a
chink in his armor. The peo-
ple didn’t want this war.
Riddell grinned. “Tell me
something. Where can I find
David Bai’r?”
“What? But you’re a — ”
“Don’t mind the uniform,”
Riddell said. “Better keep
your voices low. You’re not
arrested. I want you to tell
me where Barr is.”
“This is a trick, Clyde. He’s
trying to trap us.”
“We already are trapped,”
the other farmer pointed out.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“The name is Riddell. Of
Center City. I want you to
tell me where I can find David
Barr, and then I want you to
go home and stay there.”
“Riddell? I’ve heard of you.
You’re the — ”
“Look, friends, I can’t
waste time — talk! Where’s
Barr?”
“His headquarters is at the
corner of State and Main —
three blocks down. You can’t
get to see him, though.”
“Don’t worry about that,”
Riddell said. “Just go home
and keep quiet. Maybe by
nightfall things will be dif-
ferent in Northburg. Let’s
hope so.
Cautiously, he made his
way down Main, heading for
the big brick building that
was undoubtedly Barr’s head-
quarters.
He felt encouraged with the
realization that Barr’s influ-
ence was based on a grip gf
-fear. It was infinitely more
easy to destroy a tyrant than
to try to change the mind of
an entire town.
These people wanted peace
— but Barr drove them on to
conquest, putting guns in
their hands and uniforms on
their backs. Riddell planned
to stop it.
Suddenly, a trumpet sound-
ed. Riddell looked up, startled,
and stood still.
“Attention!” a blaring
voice cried, from what seem-
ed to be a thousand loud-
speakers. “Attention! All off-
duty members of the Army of
Northburg are to assemble
outside GHQ at once for com-
94
FANTASTIC
hat briefing. Plan 102 is to be
accelerated.”
Riddell rubbed his jaw.
That meant they probably
had found the stripped guard
outside the walls, and knew
that another Center City spy
was loose somewhere in
Northburg. It meant they
would probably launch the
attack on Center City ahead
of schedule. Riddell started to
move at a fast half-trot. He
didn’t have much time now.
Soldiers in blue were ap-
pearing from all over as he
reached the Headquarters —
which had once been, Riddell
observed, Northburg City
Hall. He’s got half the totvn
militarized already, he
thought, seeing the swarm of
blue-clad soldiers.
He trotted up and filtered
into the milling group outside
GHQ. “What’s up?” he asked
the man nearest him.
“Barr’s calling a briefing
session,” the soldier said.
“Didn’t you hear the an-
nouncement?”
“I was — busy,” Riddell
said, grinning sheepishly.
“Must have missed it. We
having a change of sched-
ule?”
“It probably means we’ll
march on Center City to-
night,” the other said. “Don’t
know why they’re shifting
plans.”
“Spies,” said a third man.
“Center City’s catching wise.
We’re going to have to beat
them to the punch. I hear
they’ve had Northburg honey-
combed with spies all week.”
“Yeah?” Riddell asked.
“Hell, I thought our defense
was tight as a drum.”
“Tight as a sieve, you
mean.” The other lowered his
voice. “You know, I’ve been
hoping this day would never
come,” he said unexpectedly.
“What do you mean by
that?”
“Don’t repeat this — but I
still can’t quite swallow every-
thing Barr says about Center
City planning to jump us for
months, that we have to strike
first. It doesn’t sound right,
somehow.”
“Brother, you can’t trust
those Center City people,”
said Riddell. “If Barr said it,
Barr means it. You shouldn’t
be talking like this, you
know.”
“I know. But I’ve wanted
to get it off my chest for a
long time, and you look like
you’ve got an honest face.”
Riddell grinned. “That’s
the most dangerous kind,
pal.” He turned away and
stared around at the growing
army. So that’s the story
Barr’s been dishing out? That
explains his hold over these
AN ENEMY OF PEACE
95
people. He's got them all
scared stiff of us!
Suddenly, Riddell knew
that Barr could be stopped —
that this whole juggernaut
could be kept from going any
further. Barr’s machine was
built on a quicksand founda-
tion.
The trumpet sounded
again. Everyone looked up
automatically. On a little bal-
cony on the third floor of the
building, a man stepped out.
He was thin and wiry, with a
browned, weather - beaten
face, and even at this distance
Riddell could see the fierce
blaze of power-lust in his
eyes.
The man on the balcony
was David Barr.
Riddell broke away from
the crowd of men he was in
and pushed his way through
them toward the door of the
former City Hall. A row of
sergeants stood at the en-
trance.
“Where you goin’?” one of
them asked.
“Got a message for Barr.
Just came back from a spy-
mission to Center City, and
I’ve got information he’s got
to have!’’
The sergeants looked at
each other uneasily, as if not
sure whether to admit Riddell
or not. He paused just a mo-
96
ment, then shoved past them
and into the building.
“Hey! Come back here!”
Riddell ignored the shout
and disappeared into the dark
lobby of the building.
A staircase beckoned. He
sprang up the first flight, met
an armed guard posted on the
landing. The guard started to
say something, but Riddell
charged furiously on through
him, knocking him reeling.
“Stop that man!” someone
shouted.
He looked down and saw
several of the men who had
stood at the entrance dash-
ing after him. Riddell grab-
bed the fii’st-floor guard,
lifted him in the air, and
hurled him down the stair-
case into the midst of his pur-
suers. Then he turned and
continued ascending.
There was no further
trouble till he reached the
third floor. There, he stood
looking around for a second,
heard the sound of Barr’s
hoarse, rasping voice coming
from the left, and raced down
the hall.
He came to a halt in front
of an office-door guarded by
another soldier.
“What do you want. Cor-
poral? Why ai'en’t you down-
stairs?”
Without replying, Riddell
drove a fist into the man’s
FANTASTIC
stomach. He gagged and
doubled up. Riddell pushed
him aside, opened the door,
stepped in, and turned the
lock.
A voice was threatening
from the balcony. “Our ene-
mies in Center City threaten
our very lives!” Riddell look-
ed up. The window was open,
and standing there delivering
his harangue was Barr. Rid-
dell watched him. He was a
remarkably small man to be
wielding so much authority.
The sound of footsteps
echoed in the hall outside, and
Riddell heard a shoulder
crash against the unyielding
oak door. There w’asn’t much
time.
He took a step forward —
and stopped.
He stood there, staring at
his hands. He was frozen.
He had killed for Center
City before, had calmly fired
shots into a swarm of fear-
crazed looters who were sack-
ing the bombed city, had
executed criminals with his
own hands in the name of the
city. And he had vowed never
to kill again. He swore the
rebuilding would be accom-
plished peacefully.
Yet up ahead was David
Barr. A bullet in the unsus-
pecting demagogue’s head and
it would all be over. But Rid-
dell couldn’t do it that way.
He hovered there in inde-
cision for a fraction of an in-
stant before the answer came.
Mere bloodshed was not
enough — but violence was
sometimes necessary in the
cause of peace. It was a para-
dox whose truth was ines-
capable.
He stepped forward. His
decision was made.
Barr broke off his speech
and whirled. “Who are you?
Guards! Guards!”
“They’re not coming,” Rid-
dell said. “Your door’s so
solid they can’t break in.
We’re here alone.”
Barr’s thin hands moved
swiftly toward his hip, but
Riddell moved also. Barr’s,
gun came up just as Riddell’s
fist crashed into his arm. A
shot whined across the room
and buried itself in the luxu-
rious panelling, and Riddell
reached out and knocked the
gun from Barr’s fingers.
Again Barr screamed for
his men. And from below
came a loud roar, a shout of
defiance. Riddell smiled. The
soldiers sensed that someone
had broken into Barr’s
stronghold.
“Let him have it!” yelled
somebody. “Kill Barr!”
.“We don’t want to fight an-
other war!” shouted another.
Riddell glanced down and saw
the soldiers, divided.
AN ENEMY OF PEACE
97
Barr crouched in the far
corner. “Leave me alone, don’t
touch me.”
Slowly, Riddell advanced
across the room toward him,
while the noise from below
grew deafening. As he ap-
proached Barr, the small man
suddenly whipped a knife
from his jacket and circled
around Riddell.
“I’ll kill you,” Barr said.
He broke off and launched
a savage leap at Riddell. The
knife flashed harmlessly
through the air as Riddell
sidestepped and grasped the
other’s arm. The two men
locked together for a moment,
and Riddell could see the hate
in Barr’s eyes.
Suddenly he knew Barr
had to die. Riddell had killed
in the name of peace before.
He forced Barr back, twist-
ing the wiry tyrant’s arm un-
til the knife dropped. Barr
squirmed and clawed vicious-
ly, but Riddell held him.
They approached the bal-
cony. “Don’t!” Barr yelled.
Riddell felt utterly calm as
he lifted the wriggling Barr
and hurled him over the side
of the balcony. A mighty roar
went up.
He knew he had committed
no crime, it was an execu-
tion, rather. Barr was dead,
and with his death another
enemy of peace had per-
ished. THE END
A KISS
FOR THE
CONQUERER
By CLYDE MITCHELL
From our innermost planet to
the farthest reaches of space, one
man plus one woman equals —
well, read Air. Alitchell’s story.
T ONIGHT’S the night,”
Bolgar said.
He ducked his head to
catch a glimpse of his face in
the particle of mirror hang-
ing on the barrack wall. It
was a lean and hungry face,
the hollows in the thin cheeks
disguised by the three-day
growth of stubble.
He could see Sgt. Pulley’s
sneer reflected in the glass.
“You think I’m joking?”
Bolgar pushed the long black
hair over his ears with the
palms of his hands. There
were few combs in the world.
“I think you’re nuts,” Pul-
ley said from his bunk. He
was wearing a ragged T-
shirt. The medal, with its
shrieking eagle green with
rust, looked ludicrous pinned
to his chest. But Pulley
wouldn’t part with it.
“We’ll see,” Bolgar said
99
grimly. “Can I use your
razor?”
Pulley shrugged. “Once
more won’t matter. I’d give a
thousand credits for a
straight-edge and a strop.”
“Fat chance,” Bolgar said.
He peeled off the coat of his
gun-metal gray uniform and
flung it on the bed. Then he
went to the brown-spotted
sink and turned the only fau-
cet that worked. The trickle
of icy water that emerged ran
copper.
“Ion gun,” he said crisply.
Pulley extracted the device
from his waist, and tossed it
to his barrack-mate.
Bolgar ran a count on the
water. It "was clear.
“Razor,” he said.
Pulley threw that, too. The
metal was as rotten green as
the man’s eternal medal. Bol-
gar looked at it disgustedly,
running a thumb along the
blade Avithout breaking skin.
“Couldn’t cut lard,” he said
with a snort. But he started
the painful shaving process.
Pulley watched in fascina-
tion. “You really got it bad,”
he said wonderingly. “Taking
a chance like that, for one
lousy kiss. What’s so hot
about this dame?”
“I can’t explain it. She’s a
looker — but it’s more than
that. I been watching her pa-
rade around, swingin’ her
little — ” He cut himself and
swore. “I stopped to speak to
her once. There was some-
thing in her face — the same
kind of thing you see in all
their faces — ’’
“Yeah,” Pulley said bitter-
ly. “I know the look.”
“Do you?” The other
man turned around. “What
do you see? Hate?”
“Yeah. What else?”
“No.” Bolgar shook his
head and stared moodily at
himself in the sliver of glass.
“It’s not hate anymore. Pul-
ley. The hate died out of ’em
a long time ago — right after
the war, right after the con-
tamination ...”
“They hate us,” Pulley
stated flatly.
“I don’t think so. I think
it’s something different now.
Something worse.” He began
to shave again. “Contempt,”
he said.
Pulley’s right hand balled
into a fist and struck his knee.
“We shoulda killed ’em all!
We shoulda wiped ’em out!”
“I asked her for a match,”
Bolgar said dreamily. “Just a
lousy match. She stared at me
like I was some kind of mi-
crobe. Then she wraps her
damn cape around her face
like she didn’t want to let me
breathe on her.” His growing
anger caused his hand to
100
FANTASTIC
tremble ; he cut himself a sec-
ond time.
“So you’re gonna kiss
her?” Pulley sneered. “Why
don’t you throttle the gal?
Why don’t you beat her up?
Or haven’t you got the guts?”
Bolgar turned the anger on
him. “Watch yourself, Ser-
geant !”
“Pulling rank?” It was a
jeer.
“Shut up!”
Pulley swung his boots to
the bed. “Okay, pal,” he
chuckled. “Have it your own
way. You’re asking for the
same amount of trouble —
whether you kiss her or kill
her — ”
“I’m going to kiss her,”
Bolgar said vacantly, dabbing
at his face wdth a grimy
cloth. “I’m going to wait for
her by the mess hall. She
comes out of quarters on Bar-
ton Street every night around
ten o’clock. She cuts across
the square, over to Pitcher
Street. It’s pretty deserted
there, that time. I’m gonna
jump out "and — ”
“Operation kiss,” Bolgar
laughed, toying with the
medal on his chest. “The last
victory of the war . . .”
Bolgar slipped into his
coat. The unbleached cloth
was shabby and threadbare,
but the buttons were still
bright and gleaming. The in-
signia of the 505th Army
caught the light in the room
brazenly, the iron hand
clutching forked lightning.
He had medals, too, and they
jangled as he buttoned the
coat up to its tight collar. At
least, he thought, his medals
were worn where they be-
longed.
“My!” Pulley said mock-
ingly. “You look pretty. Lieu-
tenant.”
“Whei'e’s my cap?”
“On the hook, behind you.”
Bolgar put the cap on his
head, squaring it. He stepped
back from the glass to deter-
mine its correctness.
“Beautiful !” Pulley said.
“All right, knock it off!
What time is it?”
“Twenty of ten. Better get
goin’. Your girl friend’s
waiting.”
“I’m going,” Bolgar said,
strapping on his watch. He
clanked to the doorway of the
barrack, but turned before
going out. “This place stinks,”
he said. “We got to clean it
up one of these days.”
“Sure,” Pulley said lazily.
He flopped over on the sag-
ging bunk and turned his
head to the wall. “Have a
good time. Lieutenant.” His
chuckle ended in a yawn.
The area was deserted, just
as Bolgar knew it would be.
A KISS FOR THE CONQUEROR
101
He walked quick march to-
wards the mess hall, hoping
that he would be unobsei’ved,
regretting now the cluster of
medals on his uniform. He
knew that these tokens of
battle were officially frowned
upon; but he also knew that
there would be added satis-
faction in crushing the hard
bits of brass and iron against
the girl’s heaving chest . . .
He ducked behind a build-
ing when he heard footsteps.
Two women passed him,
speaking in low tones, their
skirts rustling in the silence
of the night.
He held his breath until
they were gone, and darted
out from concealment, walk-
ing more rapidly towards his
destination.
The mess hall wasn’t a
hundred yards away from the
wire fence that marked the
safety limit. Even from where
he was, he could see the red-
lettered sign that warned con-
queror and vanquished alike
away from the radiation-con-
taminated zone.
Bolgar suddenly remem-
bered that he had forgotten
his ion gun. The thought
troubled him only slightly. He
had more vital things on his
mind.
It was an odd revenge he
was after.
The mess hall was a loom-
ing black shadow, facing the
rows of sagging-roofed shacks
that stretched out for a third
of a mile. It was their quar-
ters; seedier, uglier, far less
equipped to withstand the
brutal weather than the bar-
racks ; yet somehow, warmer,
friendlier, happier-looking.
He hated the sight of them.
He dived into the envelop-
ing darkness behind the mess
hall, stealing a look at the il-
luminated dial of his watch.
He began his vigil.
In a few minutes, she
would appear.
Time went slowly.
Then he saw her. She was
giving murmured good-byes
to the people with whom she
visited night after night.
Now it was time to go, half
an hour before the sound of
curfew.
He saw her arms adjusting
her cape over her head, in the
age-old motion of women.
Now she was walking hur-
riedly away from the shack,
across the square, her low
heels slipping on the loose
gravel.
There was a moon, and its
light struck her face gently,
softly highlighting the sad
loveliness of her features.
When she was some twenty
yards away, Bolgar started
after her.
102
FANTASTIC
He walked lightly, on his
toes.
She didn’t hear him until it
was too late.
His hand went out, and his
fingers whipped the cape
from her shoulders to the
ground. One arm snaked
her waist, the other arched
smoothly in front of her.
But she was struggling, her
foot kicking out forcefully.
“Just a kiss, baby!”
He leaned over her, laugh-
ing, and replaced the hand
over her lips with his own
hungry mouth.
The kiss was savage; be-
yond the force of love or sex-
ual appetite. It was a blow, a
crushing onslaught, a blitz of
the emotions.
“You — animal!” she cried.
“Listen—”
“Help!” she screamed.
“No — you don’t under-
stand — ■”
“Stop!” he shouted.
He turned around, frantic
at the sounds that were gath-
ering behind him. He saw the
figures coming towards them.
When the hands closed
around him, he went limp and
silent, and allowed himself to
be led away.
The tribunal took action
quickly.
The guards, with their
rifles firm against their
chests, looked at him with
neither hate nor animosity.
The judges were less dis-
passionate.
“Lieutenant Bolgar?”
He stared over their heads.
“Janice Damon?”
The girl stepped forward,
still sobbing.
“Yes — ” she said. “He’s the
one. He’s been watching me. I
know it. I’ve seen him hang-
ing around the quarters.”
The woman in the silken
uniform looked solemn.
“You were given many
privileges. Lieutenant,” she
said crisply. “But it would
seem that men — ” she said
the word with loathing —
“must always take advantage
of their privileges. Do you
have anything to say?”
He shook his head.
“It’s greed, you know,” the
woman said confidentially.
The other women of the tri-
bunal nodded in agreement.
“Greed’s the downfall of all
men. How many wars do you
have to lose before you real-
ize that?”
He said nothing.
“Send him to the breeding
camp,” the woman said care-
lessly. “He’ll pay for his
kiss.”
She looked at the girl sym-
pathetically.
“Your lipstick’s smudged,
dearie.” the end
A KISS FOR THE CONQUEROR
103
BY THE READERS
Dear Ed:
The December issue of Fantastic was very enjoyable. As
I’ve often stated before one can escape into, the so-called im-
possibilities with good old Fantastic.
Your new publication PEN PALS sounds like quite an un-
expected deal. Am eagerly awaiting it on sale date.
W. C. Brandt
Apt. N
1725 Seminary Ave.
Oakland 21, Calif.
• PEN PALS is now on the stands. No doubt you already
have a copy. How many pen pals have you contacted so far?
Dear Editor:
After reading your letter section in the December Fantastic
we were surprised to note the number of people interested in
joining science-fiction clubs. So to the fans of the Dallas area
we wish to extend our welcome to join the Dallas Futurian
Society, but let’s not stop in this immediate vicinity. We wel-
come anyone else in the country to become an associated
member.
Albert Jackson
3435 Lawther Dr.
Dallas, Texas
,104
• Before too long, you'll probably find quite a few members
through The Space Club, a new feature we're running in
Amazing Stories. There’s a copy on your local newsstand.
Dear Ed:
I love reading Fantastic and all science fiction for that mat-
ter and there are rarely any stories that I do not enjoy. There
was one story in the December Fantastic that was exception-
ally good and very enjoyable, however one thing about it
puzzled me. We all know how the King what-ever-his-name-
was existed through all those thousands of years that he was
thought dead, but how did the friend and sorcerer, Ahnku
the Ancient exist while his King was buried for many thous-
ands of years? I mean, how did Ahnku preserve his life?
Mrs. Gary Lynn Young
7827 Goll Avenue
No. Hollywood, Calif.
• Well, it came about this tvay, Mrs. Young. You see this
Ahnku character was a very remarkable chap. He was able
to stick round so long because — ah, well because he had a —
(aside to secretary). Tell Clyde Mitchell we want a few words
xvith him the next time he comes in. A couple of questions
about a story he wrote for us.
Dear Ed:
I picked up a copy of the December Fantastic at the 14th
World Science-Fiction Convention and read through it when
I returned home. Here’s what I thought of it:
As Ted Sturgeon so aptly put it, “90% of science-fiction is
crud. 90% of everything is crud.” I must say that I agree with
him, and this applies to Fantastic also. But Fantastic pub-
lishes some of the best crud in the business.
My favorite story was Robert Silverberg’s “Choke Chain.”
An ingenious idea, Bob. Could have been handled a little
better, especially the ending, but I enjoyed it thoroughly. The
twist at the end added to my enjoyment of the story. No won-
der he stood up so well, but why did he have to breathe?
Second place is a three-way tie between “The Chimp” by
Henry Slesar (more power to him, more stories from him)
“Man of Many Bodies” and “Death Rattle” by 0. H. Leslie.
ACCORDING TO YOU . . .
105
Whoever this Leslie is he wrote a mighty fine yarn. Oops — a
four-way tie, Jorgensen’s “Coward’s Death” represented a
fine story of time travel. I’m afraid “The Mummy Takes a
Wife” was at the bottom of the list in my estimation. What
a confused mish-mash.
About the letters : What’s the matter with the letter writers
nowadays — too lazy?
Cartoons were all good, more, more!
Leslie Gerber
201 Linden Boulevard
Brooklyn 26, N.Y.
• Comments noted and checked. More cartoons coming up.
We thought “Mummy” was a hilarious piece. According to
circulation, so did thousands of others. However, maybe you’ll
he crazy about the lead story in the next issue and they’ll think
it’s not so good. That’s life.
Dear Editor:
The December issue of Fantastic was the best since the
August ’56 issue.
“The Mummy Takes a Wife” made me roar with delight.
“Death Rattle” was one of the best short-shorts in one long
time. The rest were also enjoyable.
And now about Dream World. I can’t agree that it will get
thin. It will answer all of man’s dreams. The thought of such
a magazine makes me think : Can’t wait to get my hands on it.
Edward Gorman, Jr.
119 1st Ave., S.W.
Cedar Rapids, Iowa
• The first issue of Dream World will be on the stands De-
cember 11th. Grab a copy and let us know your verdict.
Dear Editor:
“The Mummy Takes a Wife” was simply darling. Frankly,
the front cover speaks louder than words. Exciting. But the
ending sort of ruined it like it has some of the other good
novels in the past.
I, myself, am for a good beginning — always. A masterpiece
can make itself mighty weak in the middle, but can build it-
106
FANTASTIC
self back up to originality on toward the end. When the end-
ing is bad, the story is no longer any good.
James W. Ayers
609 First St.
Attalla, Alabama
• Shoot us another letter, Mr. Ayers, and' tell us what teas
wrong with the ending. We’re interested — seriously.
Dear Editor:
I am a new science-fiction fan and have just finished read-
ing my second issue of Fantastic which I enjoyed immensely.
“Choke Chain” and “Man of Many Bodies” were great as
well as “Coward’s Death.” I am looking forward to more new
issues of Fantastic.
Stanley Teitler
90-36 149 St.
Jamaica, N.Y.
• We’ve got Mr. Silverberg doing more yams like “Choke
Chain.” We thought he had an extremely original premise.
107
By VILLIERS GERSON
TO LIVE FOREVER. By Jack Vance. 185 pp. Ballantine Books.
Cloth: 2.75; Paper: 35f
In the world of the far-distant future, the supreme reward
which society can grant to its creative minds is the gift of
immortality. Smaller rewards seep down to those men and
women who are merely gifted, talented, or normal : the grant-
ing of a life-extension which doubles the life span. But there
is a price to pay, for since it is the state which has granted
the extension, the state can at will revoke its citizens’ lives —
and does so through a corps of Assassins.
It is unthinkable that life be ended otherwise— yet there is
one unspeakable man who is both a murderer — and an Im-
mortal. His name is John Warlock, and it is with his adven-
tures that this s-f novel is concerned.
More carefully constructed than most science fiction efforts,
“To Live Forever” has one serious defect: its careful extra-
polation and construction is limited to a society, rather than
to the one man in whom the reader becomes interested. We
are never sure of John Warlock’s drives or the reason for his
sometimes irrational behavior. It is as if the author changed
his mind about his protagonist several times during the writ-
ing of the book.
Yet “To Live Forever” has impact, contains ideas as well as
action, and forces us to re-examine several of our pre-concep-
tions, particularly those regarding the sanctity of life. I can’t
agree with all the author’s conclusions, but such a shaking-up
is good for every reader, particularly when accomplished in
so entertaining a w’ay.
THREE TO CONQUER. By Eric Frank Russell. 22U pp. Avalon
Books. $2.50
Wade Harper, inventor, engineer, and micro-technician,
possesses an uncomfortable gift — he can read people’s minds.
A sagacious and practical man, he knows what the discovery
of his ability can mean to him, so he conceals it until, on one
murder-and-tension-filled day he brings his gift out into the
open to protect humankind. Only Wade Harper can detect a
strange life-form, an intelligent virus from Venus, which is
bent on taking over the Earth by making human beings un-
witting hosts.
Though his attack on the invaders costs him his friends, his
safety, and the respect of his associates. Harper persists in
his task — until he is in turn discovered bj'^ the invaders. Then
an already fast-moving novel moves into high gear.
For this type of thriller, too exhaustive an exploration of
protagonists and antagonists is unnecessary, for it is inge-
nuity and pace which counts — and “Three To Conquer’’ has
both. A welcome first issue from a new firm which promises
to release a new science-fiction book each month.
THE SHRINKING MAN. By Richard Matheson. Gold Medal
Books. 35^
Richard Matheson has demonstrated in the past that he has
few equals in bringing the prickle of fear and awe to the nape
of the reader’s neck. Once an expert skater on the thin ice
of underplayed horror, with “The Shrinking Man,” Matheson
has taken a resounding pratfall.
The theme of this novel is that old cliche — the man who,
for some imperfectly understood reason, shrinks until he is a
midge in a world of Titans. In the proper hands, even so old-
hat an idea as this can be made into something resembling the
themes of the Grand Guignol, but somehow Mr. Matheson was
led astray. He has accepted every comic book idea from the
Cunning of the Creeping Cat, to the Menace of the Monstrous
Spider, to the Cruelty of the Callous Child. The result is a
second-rate and disappointing effort.
109
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN (Confkiuea from page 29)
her to say, prob’ly. But now
we want the truth !”
“But you know as much as
we do. We’ve told the truth —
as much as we know!”
“Now we ain’t as big fools
as you think, Mrs. Parker — ”
“I tell you we’ve — ”
Dan Parker pushed for-
ward. His eyes were slitted
and ugly. “Don’t tell him any-
thing, Jane. Not another
damned word.” Dan pushed
close to Bates and the latter
fell back a step from his eyes.
“I want to ask you just one
question — are you calling my
wife a liar?”
Bates hesitated and turned
to Schultz for help. He had
not expected quite this show
of belligerence. Schultz re-
fused to become involved
however. He said, “Now wait
a minute, Ceec. I don’t know
anything about this. Besides
it isn’t my job. Mayor here’s
nothing but an honorary
office anyhow.” Having stated
his case, he backed away also
as Dan Parker moved for-
ward and pressed Cecil Bates
back against the crowd. ^
Bates said, “Now look here,
Dan, I’m duly constituted law
around here!”
“You’re a damn snooping
busybody and nothing more!”
“I got a right to investigate
and find out if the law’s been
violated. You know there’s
laws against abusing a
child — ”
Dan Parker’s fist cracked
against Bates’ half-open
mouth. A tooth snapped and
Bates kited backward. But he
did not go down because there
were three men behind him
who had come for the excite-
ment. They threw him back
into the fray, one of them
yelling delightedly, “You go-
ing to let him do that, to you
Ceec? You’re the sheriff. No-
body ought to poke the sher-
iff around.”
Dan swung again, but Cecil
Bates dodged and scurried to
the side, opening up a space
that gave him time to draw
his gun. His eyes were cleared
of fear now and there was a
little sneer on his battered
mouth. “All right, Dan! You
want to get gunned down? I
can do it. Assaulting an offi-
cer. And I got witnesses!”
Bates’ trigger finger tight-
ened. There would be joy for
him in the bullet he aimed.
But at that moment someone
in the crowd yelled, “You’re
on his property, Ceec. You
got a warrant?”
The statement was thought-
less and by sheer chance but
it probably saved Dan Par-
ker’s life. It made Bates real-
ize his case might not be con-
110
FANTASTIC
sidered legally clear in a
courtroom.
But he could not bring him-
self to a complete loss of face.
He said, “You’re going to jail,
Dan. I mean it. One more
move and I’ll kill you.”
This satisfied the volatile
elements of the crowd. “Sure!
Throw ’im in the can, Ceec!
Show ’im who’s boss!” By
golly! Sage Bend hadn’t seen
such excitement in twenty
years and maybe there’d be
more ! The two cow pokes who
had met Bates in the lunch-
room congratulated' each oth-
er with happy grins. What if
they had gone out early and
missed all this?
Jane was clinging to Dan’s
tense arm. “Darling, go with
him. Do as he says. It’s better
than being killed.” But his fist
remained closed. He was on
the verge of pulling away
from her when she whisper-
ed, “We’ve got Biddy to think
of!”
The fist relaxed and the
arm dropped. Dan said,
“Okay, Sheriff. Let’s go.”
As Bates followed Dan
down the street toward the
jail, his gun held importantly
level, there were comments
from the crowd. “Pretty
cocky for a guy with his neck
out. . . . Acts as innocent as
all get-out, don’t he?”
The remarks stiffened
Cecil’s courage. He’d done the
right thing all right. The
crowd was behind him. They
respected him. It wasn’t bad
being sheriff after all.
His ego rose pleasantly, but
only to be knocked flat three
minutes later in front of the
jail. As the disordered crowd
moved up the street, a group
of riders — perhaps half a
dozen — rounded a building
and came into the street at
the far end. They moved for-
ward and were waiting in
front of the jail when Cecil
Bates arrived with his pris-
oner. Bates lowered his gun
and the crowd fell into silence
as old Sam Taber sat on a
big black in front of his rid-
ers and surveyed the scene.
Sam Taber had that about
him w’hich signified authority
even where no authority was
vested. He was the kind of
man people stopped and look-
ed at. Slim, cold-faced, and
gray-eyed, he had at once the
manner of an aristocrat and
the wary attitude of one who
had met suffering and danger
along the way and was on the
alert for more.
After a full minute of si-
lence, he asked coldly, “What
is this?”
Bates said, “I’m arresting
this man.”
“Why?”
•IDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
111
“For resisting me — an
officer.”
“Why did he resist you?”
“I went to his house to ask
him some questions and — ”
“And what?”
“He slugged me.”
“What questions did you
want to ask him?”
“About Biddy — his little
girl.”
“What did she do — rob the
bank?”
Laughter bubbled in the
crowd and Cecil Bates had a
sudden helpless feeling. “No,
Sam. You see I was up real
early this morning and — ”
More laughter and someone
remarked, “Glory be! He was
up at dawn looking for law-
breakers.”
“ — I met Biddy Parker rid-
ing out on her burro.”
Sam Taber waved an impa-
tient hand. “I got the story —
what there was of it. One of
my men brought it to me this
morning. That’s why I’m
here.”
“Then you’ll back me up.”
Sam Taber rifled a con-
temptuous look at Bates. “Put
that popgun away. You’ve got
no more case than a jackrab-
bit. I’ll ask the questions
around here.”
The crowd was silent and
Cecil Bates stood alone and
the humiliation was gall. He
bolstered his gun muttering,
“You got no right to do this
Sam. You got no right to
make me look foolish.”
Taber probably did not
hear the words. His eyes lev-
eled over the crowd. “Seems
to me the little girl’s story
bears looking into. But you
fools have yourselves a picnic
while this unknown man may
be pointing all hell at you
from out in the ridges.”
Bates snatched at the state-
ment. “Say, Sam — you might
have something there. That’s
what I was trying to get at
in the first place — ”
Taber cut in. “Come on
back to your place, Dan. I
want to talk to you.”
The crowd melted away as
Sam Taber and his silent
riders moved toward it. Sam
Taber held the black in and
rode beside Dan and Jane
Parker as the cavalcade
moved up the street. Sam
said, “I understand Biddy
rode off this morning.”
Dan Parker said, “That’s
right. We wei'e waiting for
her to come home so we
could — ” Dan shrugged.
“Then that crazy crowd
showed up.”
Jane’s hand tightened on
Dan’s arm. “She’s home!
There’s Buck in the corral.
She’s home, Dan!” And Jane
was running on ahead . . .
112
FANTASTIC
“I won’t tell you,” Biddy
said, firmly. She had now
analyzed the little fear she’d
felt upon awakening that
morning. Now she knew the
reason for it. With the in-
herent wisdom of childhood,
she knew that the grownups
would not understand Joe —
would not realize how won-
derful he was — better than
Gene Autry, Roy Rogers,
Hopalong Cassidy, and — yes
even than Davey Crockett all
put together. They wouldn’t
understand that at all, and
the way grownups were,
something bad would happen
and Joe would be hurt. “I
won’t tell you, where the cave
is or anything more about
it.”
Dan’s eyes mirrored annoy-
ance and frustration. “Now
listen here, Biddy — I don’t
want any more of this non-
sense — ”
Jane put an arm around
Biddy’s shoulders and drew
her close. “I think she’s
right,” Jane said quietly.
Dan flared in surprise.
“Well of all the—”
Jane’s eyes swept both her
husband and old Sam Taber
who was sitting quietly on the
teetery straight-backed chair,
his gray eyes never moving
from Biddy. “I’m sick and
ashamed at the way things
have gone,” Jane said. “Last
night I saw my daughter
come home and walk across
this room without need of the
brace that had become the
horror of my dreams. I saw
her made whole and beautiful
by some miracle beyond my
knowledge and I wanted only
to get down on my knees and
thank God. I knew only hap-
piness all the long night and
then I awoke to — ” Jane
swept her hand hopelessly.
“ — to this. A snarling mob.
A near murder. A town sud-
denly filled with hate and a
love of lawlessness. Biddy
saw none of this and yet she
knows that this healer of hers
— real or imaginary — would
not be thanked for what he
did but probably murdered.
She knows this and I love her
for it.” Jane drew Biddy
close. “Don’t tell them, dear.
Don’t ever tell them a thing.”
Dan Parker stood open-
mouthed at his wife’s long
declaration. Sam Taber got to
his feet and his eyes held only
admiration. He said, “I un-
derstand, Jane. And I agree
with you it would be like
turning a sheep to a pack of
wolves.”
“Thank you.”
Sam stood looking thought-
fully at his hat as he turned
it slowly in his fingers. “Just
one thing,” he said suddenly.
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
113
“Would you mind if I exam-
ined Biddy’s leg?”
Jane was surprised at the
sudden turn of his mind but
she said, “No, of course not,
Sam,”
Sam Taber dropped to his
knees as Jane slipped off Bid-
dy’s little slacks revealing a
pair of tight white panties
and two perfect legs. Sam
raised the left leg gently, like
a holy relic and ran gently
fingers down the straight,
smooth surface. “The main
damage was done above the
knee, wasn’t it?” Sam asked.
“Yes, the muscles were
pinched and destroyed. There
was only the bone left —
and enough ligament to — ”
“Davey’s is that way too,”
Sam said. “But his goes even
higher — into the hip.” Sam
matched the legs gently to-
gether and muttered, “I’m
trying to believe. I’m trying
so damned hard — ”
“You shouldn’t have to be-
lieve, Sam,” Jane said.
He looked up at her dully.
“No?”
“No, because Davey is your
boy.”
“Yes — that’s true.”
“And when one comes to
the end of belief there is faith
to carry one further.”
Sam got slowly to his feet
and now seemed suddenly
weary. He spoke softly as
though to himself. “I should
not need faith. After all. I’ve
put my finger in the
wound — ” He looked at Biddy
with his characteristic sud-
denness. “Biddy-baby — per-
haps your friend in the ridges
— maybe he would — ”
Sam stopped, floundering —
suddenly out of his depth. All
his life he had been a proud
man ; never in his life had he
asked anyone for a favor and
even though it was for Davey,
he did not know the process
of asking.
Perhaps he would have got
the words out even then, but
before Jane could help him,
another fear blocked the way
— Dan Parker’s fear. In his
mind he saw Davey whole
and unbroken, riding the
saddle Dan Parker now rode.
And while he hated his self-
ishness — recognized it for the
evil and the criminal weak-
ness it was — he still instinc-
tively blocked the way —
spoke the words that stopped
Sam Taber’s plea: “I think
you’d better lie down a while,
young lady. Get some rest.
You were out too early this
morning.”
It was an inconsequential
barrier, but enough to
straighten Sara Taber — bring
his natural coldness to the
surface — end his plea. He
114
FANTASTIC
turned toward the door. “You
might as well take the rest of
the day off, Dan. Won’t be
much work done today any-
how. See you tomorrow morn-
ing.”
Then he was gone ; into the
black’s saddle and leading his
quiet riders out of town.
They watched him from the
door and Jane said, “That
was cruel Dan. And you did it
on purpose. I know you did.
A boy’s life restored against
that miserable job of yours.”
Dan Parker knew inwardly
the shame of his weakness
but he hid it behind surliness.
“Well, somebody’s got to look
out for Biddy. You’d be per-
fectly willing to let things go
to hell and then moan be-
cause there was no food in the
house. Somebody’s got to be
practical.” Dan snatched his
hat and without another
word headed for the tav-
ern . . .
Art Haney had never had
it so good. He chuckled and
took another swig from the
bottle Cecil Bates offered and
thought by God it was about
time this town gave a poor
blind man a break.
Cecil Bates leaned forward
and took the bottle back. He
didn’t want this old souse to
get plastei’ed and thus become
useless. He said, “So you met
BIDDY AND THE SILVER AAAN
this guy out in the desert, eh,
Haney?”
“Sure did. At least it was a
stranger because I know
every voice in these parts.
You see when a man’s blind
like I am, his sense of hearing
gets almighty sharp and you
take notice — ”
“Yeah, I know. Now he
walked along with you and
took you to the cave he’s got
out there?”
“Nope — he didn’t take me
— well, not very far. I’m no
slouch in getting around even
if I am blind and nobody ever
helps me. I go out in them
ridges sometimes just to sort
of hear the quiet sounds. You
see a blind man — ”
“I know — I know. So you
were out there and — ”
“And he said hello. We got
to talking — ”
“What about?”
“Oh, just this and that. It
was getting almighty hot and
I asked him if he could give
a poor blind man a little
something to drink.”
“That was when he took
you to the cave.”
“Uh-huh. It was only about
fifty feet from where I was.
He took me inside and gave
me a swig of the damndest
stuff you ever drank. Had a
kick to it, but not like any
whiskey you ever drank.”
Cecil pushed the bottle into
115
his hand. “Try another belt
of this.”
Art was highly agreeable.
He wiped the neck with a
filthy hand and said, “Thank
you, Ceec. You’re mighty
good to a poor helpless blind
man.”
Bates let him take a fairly
long one, then retrieved the
bottle. “And you say you can
show me the exact spot where
this guy’s cave is?”
“Sure can. Only — ”
“Only what?” Bates scowl-
ed and pulled the bottle back
as though to keep from wast-
ing any more good liquor.
“Only that it might be kind
of rough on you. I’d have to
walk it. Wouldn’t know where
we was going if we drove.
And a blind man taps along
pretty slow.”
“Never mind that,” Bates
said grimly. “I’ll tap right
along with you. I’d crawl
across the Gila Desert to get
that guy. I truly would, Art.”
“All right then. Let’s get
started.”
Cecil Bates grinned. He’d
show old Sam Taber what the
score was; who was sheriff
around here and who wasn’t ;
who could go out and bring
in a criminal while everybody
else talked about it . . .
Davey Taber had special
foot controls built into his
116
jeep. This gave him a great
deal of freedom — access to
all the roads roundabout and
to any part of the desert on
which a jeep could travel.
Davey was a handsome
youth with none of his fa-
ther’s characteristics of lead-
ership. He had a rather long
sensitive face with eyes made
dark and beautiful from suf-
fering. His hands were the
slim delicate hands of an
artist.
He had driven off the Cir-
cle-7 toward Sage Bend but
when he came within a few
miles of the town, he turned
away from the road and into
the flat desert. There w’as a
strange restless stirring in-
side him, a hope that was al-
most akin to pain because he
had heard the story of the
mysterious man in the ridges
and of what had happened
to Biddy Parker. If he could
only find the man — if the
story were only true — if —
There were a dozen ifs bounc-
ing through his mind as he
wound aimlessly over the hot
expanses. If he could only —
He pushed down on the
brake and came to a stop as
he saw a spot across the
waste, his sharp eyes telling
him what it was. A small
flop-eared burro and a little
girl leading it.
Biddy Parker ! Davey
FANTASTIC
screamed the jeep into mo-
tion and headed in that direc-
tion. As the intervening
distance lessened, Biddy stop-
ped and waved a ■welcome.
The jeep came to a halt and
Biddy ran toward it. “Look
Davey ! I can walk ! I can
run!”
“I heard. Somebody came
to the ranch this morning
with the story. Dad went into
town.”
“I saw him and he talked
to me.”
Davey’s eyes asked the
question. “What — ?”
Biddy dropped her own
eyes. “I — I wouldn’t tell any-
body where Joe’s cave is,
Davey.”
“Joe?”
“He’s the man who fixed
my leg. He comes from the
sky bloc. He’s a wonderful
man and I was afraid they
meant to hurt him.”
Davey had inherited one
thing from his father. Pride,
and now his face fell as the
hope died within him. “Oh,
I see. Well, you were probably
right. There are some pretty
crazy people around these
parts. But I’m glad you found
him and got cured. It must
be pretty nice to walk and
run again.”
Biddy came quickly for-
wai'd and laid a hand on
Davey’s arm. “I didn’t mean
that I didn’t want you to see
Joe, Davey. In fact I talked
to him about you and he said
he might be able to help you
too.”
The gratitude in Davey’s
face was eloquent. “He did?”
“Uh-huh. Joe is just won-
derful. We’ll go there tomor-
row — just me and you and
Joe will fix your leg.”
Biddy saw the disappoint-
ment her words brought.
Davey said, “That would be
just w'onderful.”
“You see its quite a long
way from here. I came in the
opposite direction on purpose
in case anybody followed me.
I didn’t want to lead them to
Joe and now it’s getting
pretty late.”
Davey glanced at the sun.
“Uh-huh. Sun’ll be down in
fifteen minutes.”
“And I’ve got to get home
or Mom and Pop won’t like it.
They’ll be cross.”
“Sure — a little kid like you
shouldn’t be out on the desert
at night.”
“I’ll meet you tomorrow,
though. Let’s see, where — ?”
“Any place you say,
Biddy.”
Biddy thought it over very
carefully, then suddenly bub-
bled with the warmth that
was a part of her nature.
“Davey — we won’t wait. We’ll
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
117
go now. It will be way after
dark when we get there be-
cause I can’t leave Buck and
he can’t go very fast on his
short legs, but we’ll go any-
way and see Joe tonight!”
Davey’s hands trembled.
“But what about your folks?”
Biddy shrugged. “Well, I’ll
be with you and you’re an old
person so that ought to make
it all right.”
“Well—”
“Anyhow, let’s worry about
that later. You make the jeep
go real slow and I’ll ride be-
side you. I can make 'Buck go
faster that way.”
“All right.”
So the strange little caval-
cade started slowly off across
the desert. Biddy prattled on
as she rode the phlegmatic
Buck beside the jeep and
Davey’s heart sang a song
within him, a crazy, ecstatic
song: WeWe looking for Joe.
WeWe riding over the night
desert hunting for him. And
maybe we aren’t the only
ones. Maybe everybody in the
world is stumbling through
the darkness looking for Joe.
What Davey’s heart was say-
ing made little sense to his
mind. But he did not question
its source. He was only twen-
ty-one and not a wise philos-
opher so he completely over-
looked the wisdom of his
instinct . . .
Cecil Bates sat in the Sage
Bend tavern celebrating his
luck and preparing for his
triumph. This preparation
consisted of spreading the
word because his very nature
demanded witnesses or there
would be no triumph at all.
“So you know where this
foreign invader is, eh Ceec?”
“Sure do.” Cecil emptied
his shot glass and tapped his
forehead with a knowing fin-
ger. “Used my head. Used my
head, I did.”
“Old blind Haney led you
right to the stop, huh?”
“Almost as close as I am
to you. Now nobody’d think
a blind man could do a thing
like that — nobody but a man
who uses his head like I do.”
“You sure are smart Ceec.
You say you actually saw the
machine he’s going to blow us
up with?”
“Not us, I don’t think. I
think the rat’s after our space
station. Now what better spot
could they pick? Visibility
clear as a bell out here — ”
“Think he’s from the East-
ern Bloc, Ceec?”
“Course he is. Where else
could he come from?”
The voice of a more logical
hanger-on came from some-
where in the greatening
group. “But it doesn’t make
sense to come over here to
118
FANTASTIC
do it. Too risky. They’ve got
deserts over there — just as
good visibility.”
Cecil was annoyed. Always
some guy goofing things up.
“Is that so? Well listen to me.
Just what in the hell do you
know about the mechanics of
space-fire and locations and —
and things? Seems to me you
take a mighty lenient view of
things in general mister. It
sure does.”
“Gosh, Ceec — I didn’t
mean — ”
“Then keep your trap
shut.” Cecil Bates glanced
around. Plenty of people here
now. Quite a crowd. “Me —
I’m going out and get him.
I’ll have him back in town
in an hour. We’ll show those
rats we got pretty alert law
around here.”
“You going alone, Ceec?”
“Sure am.” Bates got up
and walked importantly to-
ward the door. There, he
stopped and turned. “Course,
if a body of citizens tagged
along to see how justice
works, I guess there’s nothing
I could do about it.” He gi'in-
ned and winked.
A shout of approval went
up and last drinks were hur-
riedly slopped down and
additional quickies ordered.
Then they followed Cecil
Bates out into the street,
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
moving with drunken antici-
pation of excitement.
Loaded with the dynamite
of irresponsibility.
They streamed out of town
behind Cecil Bates’ car, not
stopping to get other cars or
mount horses for fear of
being left behind. There was
no danger of that however.
Bates was not eager to face
the strange man in the cave
without some show of force
in his wake so he traveled
slowly enough for all to
follow . . .
Dan and Jane Parker stood
on their porch watching the
town empty out into the des-
ert. Jane said, “Dan! You
must do something. They’re —
they’re dangerous!”
Dan Parker frowned. “But
it’s not my job. Cecil Bates
is the sheriff — ”
“Bates is a slovenly, dis-
honest — hoodlum. You know
that Dan. They’ll do some-
thing out there — ”
“What? What will they do?
Bates is just going out to
arrest that man for question-
ing and I think he’s got a
right to do it.”
Jane Parker looked at her
husband in new surprise.
There was something in her
face that had never been
there before. A look he would
have done well to heed. She
119
said, “Dan — I just don’t un-
derstand you any more. This
isn’t you. There’s an — an evil
coming into you.”
“That’s nonsense. Just be-
cause I won’t stick my nose
into the sheriff’s business — ”
“At least do this for me,
Dan. Go out and tell Sam
Taber what’s happening. If
Sam refuses to act, then I’ll
be satisfied. But go and tell
him.”
Dan Parker’s mouth twist-
ed in anger and helpless frus-
tration. “So you think Sam
Taber’s a better man than
your husband? So you have
more respect for him than
you have for me?”
“I’m afraid I do — at the
moment.” Jane spoke quietly
and there was a distant re-
gard in her eyes. “Will you
go, Dan? Or will I?”
“I forbid you to go kiting
off across the desert — ”
“You go, or I will.”
“All right— I’ll go.”
Jane stood in the yard
watching the tail light of the
jeep fade off toward the
Circle-7. There was a stark
misery in her heart — a bleak
unhappiness she had never
before known. It’s not Dan —
not Dan at all !” she whisper-
ed fiercely. Then she ran back
to the porch and sat down
on the steps and began to cry.
But not for long. She came
erect suddenly. Biddy was not
home yet! She was out there
in the desert. A drunken mob
was moving out there some-
where. With a choked cry,
Jane Parker ran off into the
night. After a while she be-
gan calling — “Biddy — Biddy
baby — where are you? Where
are you?”
But the stars were silent
and the night was silent
too ...
Joe had heard the sounds
of the approaching crowd. He
came from the cave where he
had just got the report of
zero-minute two hours away
and waited in front of the
cave. He looked up into the
heavens from where, very
shortly, a small, dark ship
would arc in and settle quietly
down.
The headlights of the car
leading the crowd cut two
paths through the night and
he stepped out into their
radiance. Instantly an un-
pleasant voice barked, “You
there ! Stand still. Don’t move.
I’ve got you covered.”
From curiosity rather than
fear, Joe remained where he
was. The voice and the harsh
discordant vibrations from
the crowd in the background
fascinated him. What sort of
a demonstration was this?
What strange primitive mo-
120
FANTASTIC
tivations generated the black
aura about these people?
A scowling figure emerged
from the gloom and peered
over his shoulder into the
cave, “What you got in
there?”
“The equipment I brought
with me.”
“Where’d you bring it
from?”
The mob was straining for-
ward to hear and a baleful
silence waited to be broken by
Joe’s answer, “From the
Galaxy — well, the Galaxy
Capital I suppose you’d call
it.”
“Where the hell’s that?”
“I don’t think you could
understand if I told you.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m not
as stupid as you think, buster.
You’ve snuck in here from
the East somewhere. You’ve
been pretty damn clever, but
no Eastern fifth column is
going to get a foothold in my
territory. You come along
with me. You got some ques-
tions to answer.”
An ugly tremor went
through the crowd. It raced
from drunk to drunk and in-
fluenced even the sober. Fear
mixed with panic.
“See that stuff in there?”
“Lousy Eastern fifth col-
umnist,
“Brought his equipment
with him.”
“Bet it is something to
blow up our space station just
like they said.”
Cecil Bates expanded under
the reflection of these revela-
tions. He’d shown them all
right. He’d brought them out
here and shown them what
was going on and what he
was going to do about it. He
said, “All right — come on you
— into the car and right down
to the jail house.”
As Joe hesitated, four men
came out of the crowd. “You
heard what he said. Get go-
ing,” and they laid rough
hands on Joe and carried him
bodily away.
But they did not stop at
the car. The raucous-voiced
leader of the group yelled,
“Don’t worry, Ceec, We’ll get
him there for you. Don’t need
no car. We linow where the
jail is!”
The spark W'as touched off
— the thought suggested — by
a blurred voice from the
crowd. “We don’t need no jail
house. What we need’s a
rope!”
Laughter — ugly laughter
— and other suggestions:
“There’s the tree by Indian
Head Rock. About big enough
to hold a rat his size.”
More drunken laughter but
laced now With viciousness
and excitement. Shouts and
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
121
curses rising into a steady
roar. A lynch mob.
Cecil Bates never quite
knew how it- happened. He
made no resistance because
he lacked the courage and he
was afraid to defend the
prisoner. After all, he ration-
alized — when he saw how
things were going — these
were the people, the taxpay-
ers, the hard core of the
country. They had an instinct
for knowing when swift ac-
tion was necessaiy. And by
gosh, when it was time, they
acted !
But he realized these were
only weak alibis for his own
impotence and that he was
held helpless by his fear, his
inner rottenness, his lacking
of stature as a man.
And when they took the
stranger and hung him to the
tree by Indian Head Rock,
Cecil Bates looked himself in
the face for the first time in
his life and was sickened by
what he saw. He screamed at
himself — do something. For
God’s sake don’t let this hap-
pen. That man hanging there
is you. When he dies you’ve
come to the end of your rope
too. But there’s still time. Do
something. Stop them.
But the weakness he had
nourished and fed within
himself for so long would not
let him raise his voice or his
gun. And he stood alone with
his sickness watching the
body of the stranger twirl
gently at the end of the rope
someone had brought along
just in case . . .
Sam Taber and his riders
prowled the dark desert and
the desert was a big place
after sundown. Finally he
pulled up and said, “I can’t
figure this thing out. Bates
must have used a car. Why
can’t we see the headlights?”
“Maybe he turned them out
so as to slip up on the man
in the dark.” This from one
of the men in his group ; men
who obeyed orders and sel-
dom spoke.
“With the whole town and
half the county tailing along
behind him? I think not.”
A different voice: “There,
boss. Look. See the glow?”
Sam’s gray eyes pierced the
night. “Sure. That’s Bates.
We swung in the wrong di-
rection. Should have gone to
Sage Bend and started from
there.”
“The light’s at Indian Head
Rock.”
“Let’s go.”
They swept aci’oss the des-
ert, thundering up a dust
cloud that hung in the night
behind them. Rode until sight
of a terrible thing sent a chill
122
FANTASTIC
down Sam Taber’s spine ;
sight of a man hanging from
a rope against the glare of
a car’s headlights; a silhou-
ette of savagery that killed
the last faint hope in Sam
Taber’s breast; the last hope
for a crippled son.
Sam fought to control him-
self as he and his men rode
silently, gently, into the light-
ed circle. He struggled there
in the saddle with the red
rage that tried to flare up
from the stormy heart of
him ; the uncontrollable anger
he had fought all his life and
thought he had conquered.
The mob was now looking at
its handiwork in silence, each
member wishing himself
somewhere else.
The roaring in Sam Taber’s
ears drowned this silence as
he reined up and one of his
men rode close to the turning
body. The man’s hand went
out. He said, “Too late, boss.
We’re too late.”
Taber sat like a dead man
for a full minute. Then his
rage broke its bounds and
flooded out through his eyes
and his throat across the des-
ert. “Take them!” he bel-
lowed. “Take every last rotten
mother’s son of them! Lash
the swine down! Cut them
to pieces!”
He stood up in his stirrups
and bent forward and lashed
out with his quirt. Without
question his riders went into
action. Quirts rose and fell,
slashed and cut. Screams and
bellows and curses arose on
the dark desert as the shad-
owy avengers moved into
their bloody work.
The mob broke to run bel-
lowing and screaming in all
directions. There was no lead-
ership now, no courage to
rally them for a stand against
their tormentors. The only
thought was to get away from
the slashing quirts ; to run off
into the desert and hide like
squealing rats in the black-
ness of a safe hole. To find
sanctuary.
But just in the middle of
the terrible savagery, a cry
went up from one of the
riders. “Hey. Over there! The
boss! He’s down!”
The riders turned from
their work and converged
upon the indicated spot where
Sam Taber hung limp in his
saddle and was just ready to
slip from his mount’s back.
They spied him just in time.
Two of the riders cut skill-
fully in and caught the loll-
ing body. “What’s wrong,
boss? One of ’em get you?”
Taber’s reply was tortured,
throaty. “Heart. Heart’s gone
— bad. Can’t — breathe. Done
— all done.”
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
123
“We’ve got to get him to
town — quick!”
So, as quickly as it had
come the avenging force
moved back into a group and
thundered away. Cecil Bates
had got to his car during the
melee and rammed it in panic
through the crowd and off
into the desert. The mob it-
self had melted like tallow in
a blast furnace.
And now there was nothing
— no one from the rising
moon to see except the still
body of Joe hanging from the
tree beside Indian Head
Rock . . .
Biddy Parker kicked a heel
into Buck’s flank and said,
“Davey — the light’s gone out
now. I wonder what it was.
It wasn’t the moon.”
“No, the moon’s coming up
over there. Probably some-
body parking in a car and
then they di'ove on.”
“But we didn’t see the
lights move away.”
“No. Well, you say we go
right by there. Maybe we can
find ouL”
“It’s not very far. We’ll be
there soon.”
The moon came up in des-
ert splendor and the land-
scape brightened. The rocks
threw shadows and for all
purposes it was the light of
day.
Shadows of rocks. And an-
other shadow as Biddy and
Davey approached the place.
The ^adow of — Biddy reach-
ed over and touched Davey’s
arm. “Look — Davey! Do you
see — ?”
“I see it. A — a man! He’s
hanging from the tree there.
Biddy. He’s killed himself —
or somebody has — ”
“But nobody is around.
I wonder who it is.” Biddy’s
heels beat a veritable tattoo
on Buck’s little flanks and the
burro went into a reluctant
trot. Closer they came, closer,
until Biddy cried, “Davey —
Davey — it’s Joe hanging
there!”
“You mean the man we’re
going to find?”
“Yes — yes. He’s dead!
Davey — somebody did this.
Joe would never — ”
“That’s not important now.
See if it’s too late!”
Biddy slid off Buck and ran
to the tree. She could just
reach the waist of the hang-
ing figure. She began to cry
and turned a streaming face
to Davey. “I — I can’t help
him ! I can’t even reach !
There’s nothing I can do!”
“And I’m helpless too !
Davey had tears in his eyes
too — tears of anger as he
reached for his two canes and
tried to struggle from the
jeep.
124
FANTASTIC
“You can’t, Davey! You’ll
hurt yourself!”
Davey stopped. “Wait a
minute, Biddy. Do you think
you could climb the tree and
go out on the limb and cut
the rope?”
“I haven’t got any knife.”
“I have. Here — do you
want to try?”
“I can do it.”
“You’ll have to hurry.
Every second may be impor-
tant.”
“He’ll hurt himself falling
maybe.”
“Skin up that tree. I’ll
swing the jeep around under
him. It will break the fall and
then we’ll take him to a doc-
tor. Hurry.”
Davey backed the jeep in
under the body while Biddy
climbed resolutely carrying
the knife between her teeth.
She got a little dizzy but she
closed her eyes and when she
had wriggled far enough out
on the limb, she cut at the
rope until it separated.
At that moment, two things
happened. The body fell heav-
ily into the back seat of the
jeep and the car itself went
completely dead. The motor
died, the lights faded slowly
and the glow of the moon
illuminated the scene.
As Biddy climbed down
from the tree, Davey kicked
again and again at the start-
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
er. There was no sign of life
in the battery. Biddy came to
the car and Davey stared at
her blankly. “Something hap-
pened to the car. Even the
starter won’t turn over.”
“Try — try again!”
Davey pressed the pedal
and finally gave up. “It’s no
use. The crate’s letting us
down when we need it most.”
“Then we’ve got to use
Buck. We’ve got to get Joe
to where he can get help.”
“But — but he’s dead.”
“No! No! Joe can’t die.
We’ve got to take him back
to the cave!”
“Why there?”
“I don’t know. I just know
that’s where he’d want to go
apd we’ve got to get him
there.”
“I suppose it’s the best
place. Nobody in Sage Bend
would help him I’ll bet.
They’re — ”
“We’ve got to get him on
Buck.”
“You’ll have to go alone. I
can’t walk fast enough.”
“You can ride Buck too.
Pop says a burro is one of
the strongest animals there
is. And it isn’t far. Hurry.
You’ve got to help me.”
Somehow they 'pulled and
tugged the body onto the back
of the sleepy burro. Then
Davey clambered on, balanc-
125
ing precariously on the ani-
mal’s hips. Biddy took the
reins and pulled Buck into
movement and the strange
cavalcade moved off across
the desert.
Half an hour later, Biddy
cried, “There’s the cave and
some people are there. And
they’ve got lights.”
Davey was craning his
neck. “Look — look at that
funny looking thing. It’s — it’s
a ship of some kind.”
As they crawled slowly up
the hill toward the rocks,
they saw great activity. There
were half a dozen young men
moving from the strange ship
into the cave and back again.
As Buck came into the circle
of light, two of the men came
forward.
They gave the body hang-
ing limply over Buck’s back
their entire attention. They
spoke to each other in some
strange language and then
the rest of the group were
crowding about.
“We found him hanging
from a tree,” Biddy said a
little fearfully, but they paid
no attention to her.
They lifted the body fi’om
the burro and held it partially
erect. After a short confer-
ence one of the men hurried
to the ship and returned with
a small tube that somewhat
resembled a fire extinguisher.
He pointed it at Joe’s chest
and pressed a button and a
thin blue flame crackled as it
seemed to penetrate the flesh.
In a matter of seconds, Joe
coughed, opened his eyes, and
was standing without help.
One of the men, frowning
slightly, snapped a question
in the strange language. He
spoke at the same moment
Biddy ran forward and cried,
“Oh, Joe! You’re all right.
You aren’t dead! We found
you hanging there but I knew
you were still alive. I just
knew it!”
Joe smiled at her and laid
a hand on her head. He ig-
nored the other men, giving
Biddy his attention as he said,
“I’m a lot harder to kill than
you would imagine.”
Davey had struggled for-
ward on his crutches. He said,
“But how on earth could you
have lived? That strangling
rope around your neck — ”
“I suppose this is Davey,”
Joe said.
“That’s right,” Biddy as-
sured him. “We were out
looking for you.”
“As a matter of fact,
Davey, the rope didn’t hurt
me at all. It was something
else. I was knocked out com-
pletely by the chaotic vibra-
tions flowing from the crowd
that hung me to that tree.
126
FANTASTIC
I’d have come around soon.”
“You mean they — lynched
you?”
“If that’s the term.”
The young man who had.
spoken would not be put off.
He was. respectful but insis-
tent as he said, “We threw
out the power block. It has
been in effect for almost an
hour. The time has come for
you to speak and then we
must take off.”
For some reason he had
spoken in English and Joe
answered in kind. “All right.
Let’s get it over with.”
Another of the young men
said, “You don’t seem very
optimistic about it.”
Joe’s face was grave. “I’m
not. I’ve learned a few things
since I set down here.” He
turned to Biddy and Davey.
“Would you like to come in-
side?”
He accompanied his pace to
that of Davey and when they
were inside he seated them
near the shining box and
then took his own seat in
front of the control panel.
And while the others stood
back with their arms folded,
he turned several dials and
then spoke into a screened
speaker in the machine.
“People of the world — for
the last hour your planet has
not been functioning. All
mechanical means of trans-
portation has been at a stand-
still. Your electric currents
from pole to pole have ceased
their flow. Your homes have
been dark. This inaction
stems from a force-barrier
we have thrown up around
your planet. As a result, your
generators have stopped pro-
ducing electricity — ”
Wide-eyed, Davey whisper-
ed to Biddy. “That was why
the jeep’s motor died.”
Biddy’s eyes were like
saucers as she nodded — not
understanding, but fascinated
by Joe and his cold, grim
manner. He went on. “This
was done for two reasons —
to demonstrate a small seg-
ment of our power, and to
bring you to your receiving
sets. They are no doubt all
turned on as you wait for
their silence to be broken.”
Joe rubbed an unconscious
hand across his throat and
paused for a moment. “I am
breaking that silence now. I
represent a council of planets
beyond your solar system and
I have been sent here to give
you an ultimatum. We have
watched you for a long time
— watched with sympathy
and complete good will as you
struggled upward through
your evolutionary periods.
We liked much of what we
saw, sympathizing with you
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
127
in your mistakes and rejoic-
ing with you in your suc-
cesses.
“Then we saw your scien-
tific development outstrip
your moral advancement and
your sense of responsibility.
We watched you fight in caves
with clubs and stones — with
bows and arrows — with gun
powder and atomic fission.
And always we hoped your
hostility would give way to
common sense and mutual
respect if not mutual love.
“But this did not happen.
Each new discovery you made
was qualified through a single
question : How many more
will it kill at a time? You
moved out into space with
your man-made stations and
we hoped that finally you
would awaken and your hos-
tilities fade into history.”
Joe’s face was sad under its
grimness as he paused to
choose his words and tension
rang through the cave. “But
no — you ran true to your
basic hateful pattern. You
fought in your caves and on
your seas and in your seas —
on your land and under your
land. And now you propose
to carry your stupid useless
wars out into space. I have
come to tell you that this, you
will not do.
“Up to this point, you have
endangered only yourselves
but now the balance of the
galaxy can be tipped by your
madness and this we will not
tolerate. I care not who is
right or who is wrong in your
disputes. I do not look upon
you as a divided world, I look
upon you as a single indivisi-
ble planet and looking thus —
this I say to you.”
Joe took a deep breath and
plunged grimly on. “If one
of your space station attacks
the other for any reason
whatsoever, both w'ill be de-
stroyed. And in this destruc-
tion your planet will also
vanish. It will be obliterated
completely as we have no in-
tention of leaving a danger-
ous dead hulk floating
through space. It and you and
possibly your whole solar sys-
tem will go at once because —
no matter what your opinions
on the subject are, let me tell
you this — you are expendable
— your planet is expendable —
your solar system is expend-
able — and on the day after
obliteration — you will not
even be missed.”
Joe turned in his chair and
Biddy thought he looked aw-
fully tired. Then he said,
“And now if you have any
doubts go out, wherever you
are, and look up into the
blessed skies God gave you — *
Biddy watched the sadness
128
FANTASTIC
in Joe’s eyes and heard him
speak as though to children.
“ — the skies we will take
away from you unless you
grow up and behave your-
selves.”
With that, he snapped off
a switch with a quick move-
ment and turned. He said,
“Go outside and ready the
ship for takeoff. You go with
them, Biddy.” He looked at
Davey and added, “Leave the
lad with me for a few min-
utes.”
Joe’s instructions were not
questioned and a few mo-
ments later she was outside
with the young men gazing
in wonder at the sky. Every-
thing was lighted up like the
Fourth of July. But bigger —
much bigger. From every
horizon giant lights of all
colors were shooting up to
meet overhead. All the colors
of the rainbow and some
Biddy had never seen. “It’s —
it’s beautiful!” she gasped.
One of the young men
smiled without humor. “Let’s
hope a second display is never
necessary.” With that he hur-
ried away with the others and
there was great activity
around the ship. Then Joe
came out — just as the colors
overhead were dying — and
gave a signal and the men
entered the cave. Pretty soon
they came out and all the
mechanism and the big shin-
ing box were floating along
behind them — floating
through the air — as they
were pulled toward the ship
by thin lines of metal rope.
In no time Joe was walking
with Biddy toward the loaded
ship, holding her small hand
in his. He stood by the port
and said, “I think maybe
things will be all right, child.
I hope so, because there must
be many like you and Davey.
There must be sane reason
left on this mad planet.”
“Are you going away,
Joe?”
“Yes, Biddy.” He smiled
and kissed her and said, “Tell
Buck good-bye for me. Davey
is in the cave.” He entered
the ship and the port closed
and Biddy didn’t see it take,
off at all. It just seemed to
evaporate — to vanish. But
then, her eyes were misty
with tears and she thought
she might have missed the
take off. She turned and walk-
ed slowly toward the cave.
Slowly because she knew of
course that Davey would be
all right . . .
Davey Taber stood on two
fine straight legs in the Par-
ker living room looking out
the window over a silent,
subdued Sage Bend. He turn-
ed and said, “Dad will have
BIDDY AND THE SILVER MAN
129
to be very careful from now
on. He will be in bed for a
long time and then in a wheel-
chair, so I’m taking over the
Circle-7.”
“I’m sorry about your fa-
ther,” Jane said. “I’m sorry
for the people, for — ” she
glanced at Dan Parker seated
beside her and no more words
would come.
“I want you to stay on, Mr.
Parker. In fact I want you
to take more responsibility.
I’ll need a wise experienced
head and I’m afraid I’d be
lost without you.”
“Wait a minute,” Dan said
quietly. “There are some
things I have to tell you —
some things you’ve got to
know so you’ll understand
why I can’t stay at the
Circle-7.”
And while Davey listened
in silence, Dan told the whole
story of his fears and actions
and weaknesses. He did not
spare himself and the telling
took quite a while. When he
finished there was silence.
And something more. Jane’s
hand had crept toward his
and now she held it tight and
smiled proudly as she looked
into his eyes.
Davey regarded them in si-
lence for a few moments, then
spoke quietly but without
smiling. “That’s all you have
to say?”
“That’s all.”
“I asked because I want it
over and done with — and for-
gotten here and now^ I’ll ex-
pect you at the ranch in the
morning. I have other plans,
too. We’ll build you a house
out there so you w’^on’t have
to run back and forth. Dad
should have done that long
ago.”
Dan said, ‘But — ”
“But nothing.” Davey
smiled now — at Biddy. “I’ve
got an ulterior motive. I w^ant
Biddy around all the time be-
cause we’ve got a lot of talk-
ing to do.”
Biddy smiled back. “About
Joe.”
“That’s right. About Joe.”
THE END
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